Of Coffee Shops and Broken Mockingbirds
by Freakinapplepiebaby
Summary: How the boy's became estranged during Sam's time at Stanford. Mentions of abuse and possibly more graphic abuse scenes later on. This is my first Fanfiction and I would greatly appreciate feedback. Please read and enjoy!
1. Not So Perfect After All

Sam gazed tentatively out the window of the little coffee shop on the western side of Stanford's campus. It was his favorite little place to get away, and one of the only places in the area that sold honest to god coffee. Despite the jibes his brother used to toss his way, Sam would take a cup of joe over what Dean called a "girly drink" any day. Or at least he would recently. In the past month since he had left his family to attend college, Sam found himself being drawn to what was familiar with an unbearable ache and undeniable hunger. This coffee shop in particular reminded him of many things. The cozy little ma and pop shop reminded him of the ones he and his family would visit almost every morning to get their "good morning in a cup". Sam found himself falling back into his pre-college routine and made a cup of coffee from this shop part of his morning ritual. Sam loved it here. He loved the way he could easily sink into the comfortable cushions of the three or four booths inside the diner. He loved that there was hardly ever anyone here (aside from a small collection of loyal customers) and it gave him a quiet place to study or unwind after a stressful day of classes. But most of all, he loved the smell. The smell of brewing coffee reminded him of home. And aside from the subtle wisps of old leather or aftershave he'd sometimes pass on the street, it was the one smell that would easily remind him of Dean.

Lori, daughter the coffee shop's owner, brought Sam back to reality as she approached his table.

"Can I top you off sugar?" She asked a gentle and slightly flirtatious smile on her lips. She knew Sam as one of their best customers, a kind, intelligent man who among other virtues tipped exceedingly well.

"Yes please Lori. Thank you." Sam blushed softly slightly embarrassed at being caught day dreaming. He looked up into the waitress's freckle spattered face and immediately thought of Dean. His brother would have loved the blue eyed cutie. He could just picture his brother sitting in this coffee shop with him; his rugged smirk aimed at what he would assume would be a good time, making some sharp witted comment about Sam's feminine drink. She filled up his mug and then walked away her hips giving an extra swing to her step as if she was aware that a very attractive patron was watching her. Sam knew that if Dean was here, he sure as hell would have been.

Sam sighed. Had it really been a whole three months since he had last seen his brother? He knew that time would fly by when he was at school. His studies kept him busy and his after school book keeping job truly limited his free time and the availability of a social life. But what choice did he have? After all, having a free ride didn't mean having money for leftover expenses like food and clothing and up keep on his crappy, little, used Honda Civic. It was true that he and Dean managed to talk on the phone, if only for a few moments in-between classes, every other week, but it still was a shock to Sam to suddenly have so much alone time after being cooped up with his older brother almost 24/7 when they were kids. Sam promised himself to be better about calling his brother on a more regular basis. But that didn't matter so much today. Today was going to be a great day, he already knew it. He was so excited he could hardly sleep a wink and now he found himself sitting anxiously in the little booth fighting to establish a balance between his racing heart and his wistful mind. Sam was dragged away from his head again when he heard a grumbling engine. He looked up and anxiously peeked out the window; his face fell when he realized it was nothing but a passing Harley. Sam glanced at the clock on the wall and his stomach did a flip when he realized the hour. His old hunter senses kicked into high gear and he was filled with worry that something bad could have happened to the person he was waiting for. His guest had never been late before, and if he was he'd call. Sam dug into his jacket pocket and pulled at his cell phone. Flipping it open he stared at the screen, but there were no missed calls. Sam wondered if he should call and make sure everything was alright. However, before he could flirt with the idea anymore he was startled by a fierce rumble that filled the parking lot. He knew without looking who it was. He knew that sound like the back of his hand. Sam slipped his phone back in his pocket and relaxed back into the booth. Everything was going to be fine.

The bell over the door jingled as a man wearing an old leather jacket pushed his way inside. His body was tense as he gazed around the shop taking in all his surroundings and momentarily mapping exits. Sam smiled, nothing had changed. The man's gaze rested on Sam in the back corner of the shop and his face instantly lit up.

"Sammy!" he called and took off at a more than a dignified pace toward his brother. Sam stood and coughed out a surprised laugh as Dean barreled into him. Dean gripped him tight in a hug, losing himself for a tender moment before he realized he was in public and let Sam go. They stood back and examined each other. Sam had filled out since Dean had last seen him his features chiseled to that of a man instead of a lanky teenager.

"You look great!" Dean said his voice beaming with pride and excitement of beholding his not so little brother again.

Sam took in Dean. He seemed a bit worse for ware since the last time they met. He looked skinnier and even slightly gaunt; his eyes had dark circles under them, one adorning a newly healing shiner. But through all of it, Dean still wore his smile easily and it made Sam feel lighter and more carefree than he had felt in a long time.

"You too Dean," Sam lied, he moved forward and hugged him again, "It's so good to see you."

The men sat in the booth letting an easy silence pass between them for a few moments as they basked in the joy of seeing each other again. Lori, who had seen the exchange between Sam and the newcomer, was timid to approach and burst the atmosphere that had surrounded the two. But the carefree smile from Sam and the gorgeous grin from his handsome friend encouraged her enough to go take the stranger's order and refill Sam's cup. Dean and Sam emerged from their silent conversation as she came to stand at their table. She blushed at the grins pointed her direction from the men.

"Can I get you a refill Sam?" She asked taking his cup before he could reply knowing the answer and then turning to his friend, "Would you like something?"

"Well, I don't think what I want is on the menu," Dean flirted. Lori giggled and Sam just rolled his eyes. Dean looked at Sam's cup in her hands. "What are you having Sammy?"

"Coffee, Dean," Sam replied cheekily.

"Sam the crap you drink isn't coffee. Its pansy in a cup," teased Dean.

"Not these days Dean," Quipped Sam, "It's a straight cup of joe. Black."

Dean raised his eyes in surprise before a content smile spread on his face and turned to Lori, "Darlin, I'll have what he's having. Thanks."

"Sure thing Sweetheart," Lori said to go fill the order. As soon as she was out of earshot Dean turned to Sam. "I totally see why you ditched us for Stanford! They weren't kidding. Everything _is_ hotter in Cali."

"The saying is everything is bigger in Texas, Dean. And please don't put it that way…I didn't ditch you guys." Sam finished softly.

Dean, who was distracted by a gaggle of girl in low cut tops passing the window, turned back to Sam. "What? No of course not! I mean….Sorry that came out wrong."

Sam was about to reply when Lori returned two steaming cups of brew in her hands. She placed them down in front of the brothers.

"Here you go boys. Nice and hot," she flirted, her eyes riveted on Dean. He returned the favor with a wink. She turned and swayed her hips as she walked away. As Sam had predicted Dean eyed her ass until she was behind the counter. Some things never change.

They sipped their coffee as an uneasy silence fell between the two. They both had a lot to say but neither was sure how to say it, or where to start. They were still a finely oiled machine and knew each other well, but they had been away from each other for too long and now they needed time to retune with one another. It was Sam who broke the silence.

"What happened to your eye?"

Dean looked hesitant before replying with an answer about as informative as a grunt, "Hunting."

Sam knew that was his hint from Dean to leave it alone and so he attempted to switch the subject again.

"How's Dad?"

Dean took a long contemplative pause using the cover of drinking his coffee. "Good. He's fine."

Sam knew he would get no where with these condensed answers and decided to employ a new tactic.

"So has he said anything?" When Dean gave an inquisitive look, he clarified. "You know…about me and Stanford?"

Dean sighed. "Sam. Leave it alone."

"So he hasn't?" Sam pushed.

"Sam. No. Cut it out!" Sam knew he struck a sensitive cord when Dean reacted the way he did. Listening to his better sense he let it go, realizing he didn't need Dad to ruin the makings of a perfect day.

"So…" Sam began but was cut off when Dean jumped the gun.

"How's school? You doing okay?"

"Yeah. It's great. I really love it here." Sam replied happily. A proud smile lit up his face.

"I'm glad to hear it." Dean realized he didn't have a clue what to ask next. "So uh…what are you studying?"

"You mean, what's my major?" Sam asked for clarification.

"Yeah. Sorry." Sam frowned. Dean was apologizing more than he used to. He made a mental note to ask him about it later.

"Pre-law. I want to be a lawyer."

Dean choked on a gulp of coffee. "You're kidding me. You spent your entire childhood helping your family break the law and now you want to study it?"

Sam looked embarrassed and replied sheepishly, "You're right. It's stupid."

Dean realized he must have said something wrong and corrected his teasing, "I think that's awesome Sam. I think you'll be great at it. God knows that you are stubborn enough to be a lawyer. Hell, you drove Dad and me nuts for years with all the arguing you achieved."

Sam's face brightened at his brother's approval, "Really? You think so?"

Dean couldn't help but laugh at how much Sammy sounded like a kid just then. "Yeah, I do. So what else have you been up to?"

"Well…there's this girl. Her name's Jessica. She's really-"

"Sorry to interrupt," Lori cut in placing a check on the table. "I'd just thought I'd give you this. Take your time please."

Dean snatched the bill away before Sam could reach it and laughed as he opened it to find a number scribbled in red on the receipt. "Well, I guess she is serving more than was on the menu."

Sam laughed and he pulled out a ten and walked up to the counter to pay for their drinks. Dean glared but secretly smiled at the boldness of his brother.

"Very sneaky Sammy," Dean remarked as they made their way out to the parking lot. He glanced at his watch and visibly flinched. Was it really that late all ready? Dean sighed at the realization that he had to cut their good byes short. He took the receipt out of his pocket and crumpled it up and threw it away knowing he wouldn't be back anytime soon. That is, at least not for some easy tail.

"You're throwing it away?" Sam inquired, "Dude you're seriously passing up some free nookie? You, Dean Winchester? Are you feeling alright?"

Sam turned to his brother to see that tenseness had enveloped Dean's stance again.

"It doesn't matter. Sammy…I…" Dean said quietly, it sounded almost like a plea.

"What's going on?" Sam asked concerned. "Are you ok? Dean?"

Dean swallowed and tried to get a normal timbre back in his voice, "Yeah, I just…I have to get going."

"So soon?" Sam couldn't hide the disappointment in his voice. "I thought we could hang out tonight. I still have my fake ID. I thought we could go play some pool and maybe have a few drinks."

"That sounds great Sammy. I really wish I could. But Dad…" Dean caught himself before he said too much.

"What about him Dean?"

"I…I have to be getting back." Dean said simply, shrugging.

"Dean, what about Dad?" Sam ordered, anger starting to build.

"He… doesn't know I'm here." Dean answered defeated. "I had to sneak out. We were in the area for a hunt. He thinks I'm talking to witnesses."

"I don't understand. I thought you said that everything was fine. You told me he gave you permission to come visit before you met up in Oregon."

"Sammy…"Dean said softly almost timidly as Sam started raising his voice.

"You lied to me?"

"No. I didn't. I just-"

"Just what? What's going on? What's going on between you and Dad?"

There was silence and things started to click into place.

"No. It can't…You didn't get that black eye from hunting did you?"

Dean stammered trying to find words that wouldn't come.

"He did that to you, didn't he?"

Den's whole body crumpled.

"He hit you! I…I thought you said he had stopped! This isn't stopped Dean. I thought you said he was seeking help. That he quit drinking." Anger was coursing through Sam's veins.

"He…he did. For a little while at least. Look everything was…is….fine." Dean tried to explain.

"This isn't fine Dean. He hitting you is not fine." Sam argued and then stopped, realizing what had triggered the sudden violence his father had been struggling so hard to repress. "This is my fault. I left and he fell off the band wagon...Oh my God! Why didn't you tell me Dean?"

"It doesn't matter," Dean whispered.

"What?" Asked Sam struggling to hear his brother.

"I said it doesn't matter." Dean said stronger this time. His stance changed and now he looked confrontational. "Look Sam. Yes, Dad hit me. So what? Yes. He's pissed. He is pissed off about you leaving. He feels like you abandoned the family. He's hurt and feels betrayed. So what if he hit me? I fucked up alright! I gave him a reason to hit me. I deserved this. So you shouldn't care about it. Now drop it."

Sam was shocked from Dean's outburst. He let the air clear a bit before he murmured, "But, I do care. It's not right for him to hit you. Dean, he promised he would change. He said he would try to be better…It's not fair. It's not right for him to break his promise. I grew up watching him beat the crap out of you for stupid shit! You never deserved it. It killed me every time you had to clean yourself up in our bathroom. It killed me even worse when I knew I was the reason for you getting hurt…I just…It's not fair!"

Dean said gently, "You're right Sammy. It isn't fair…Dad tried alright. He really did. But, sometimes you can't change no matter how hard you try. Frankly, I think this is a good thing."

"How the hell can you say that?" Sam asked tears starting to brim and he wiped them away stubbornly.

"Because, at least I feel better knowing you won't be caught in the cross fire." Dean simply stated.

The air was deadly thick and not a sound pierced the dark corner of the parking lot. Then just like lightning the air exploded.

"You bastard!" Sam screamed reaching forward and grabbing the front of Dean's shirt in fists. "Do you really have such a low opinion of your self worth that you are seriously trying to justify this bullshit with my safety? Are you trying to tell me its okay for Dad to hit you because it's you and not me?"

Dean didn't even fight; he just hid behind his carefully constructed walls. "Sammy…"

"No! There is something broken in you if you seriously believe that! I'm so sick of you and Dad and your "protect Sammy" bullshit! If you haven't noticed Dean I'm a big boy now! I don't need your protection. I don't need you! Sammy's dead. So don't you dare tell me that my father is not a sadistic asshole, because loving one kid over the other isn't right! I'm so sick of the nonsense, sick of this family! You know what? Fuck Dad! And fuck you too! I'm done with this family."

Sam shoved Dean away and started making his way over to his Civic, digging in his pocket for the keys. Dean reached out to stop Sam and before Sam knew what happened he sent a meaty fist into Deans already bruised face. They were both stunned for a second. Sam snapped out of his stupor first and continued his way to the car.

"Just get the fuck away from me! Maybe you aren't ready to let go of your responsibility, but I'm ready to let go of you! Just get out of here. Don't come back. Maybe this way you'll learn to stand up for yourself Dean!"

With that Sam slid into his car and bolted out of the parking lot. He drove back to his dorm room. Dean grasped his bruising cheek softly and slid into the Impala. It wasn't until they both knew they were alone in their separate parking lots before they allowed themselves to cry.

**That's all for now folks! Thank you for reading. Please review. I'm planning on making this a multi-chapter fic…but only if people are interested. Let me know what you think. If I do continue I promise there will be more Hurt!Dean and Guilty! Pissed! Sam**


	2. To Kill a Homing Pigeon

**Hi guys…Thank you so much for all the wonderful feed back and encouragement! It really helped motivate me to not let this story wallow in a corner, and to stay diligent about updating….Anyways, I wanted to warn you this chapter is a bit um…dark? (Insert better word here). So without further ado, as promised Chapter 2.**

Dean rested his head against the steering wheel of his beloved Impala feeling the idling engine thrum beneath him. The five and a half hour drive back to their motel in LA was long and exhausting. In truth Dean didn't really remember how he got back to the Sleazy Inn, just that now he was parked outside the Winchesters' motel room. Dean laughed pathetically at the cruel irony; he was like a homing pigeon. He didn't think, didn't feel, he just went. He knew that deep down it didn't matter how far he fled, by instinct alone he would always return "home".

_And what a broken home it is_ he thought to himself. _Just like Sam said. Just like me._

The lights were on inside and he could vaguely see his father's silhouette slumped in a chair. Tonight the lights brought no comfort to his weary mind, in his heart he knew he was nothing but a broken shell; an emptiness hidden behind a mask of indifference and cockiness. He tried to feel, to feel anything. But he couldn't. He couldn't feel anger, or hate, or sorrow; just pain. His spirit felt like it went ten rounds with John the Incredible Hulk on a bad Miller night. He felt battered, broken and defeated. He felt empty. Sam was right he didn't deserve to know the warmth of love.

Dean sat back in his bench seat to turn the car off. He glanced casually at the time and his heart stopped when he noted how late it was. If there ever was an Oh Shit! moment in Dean's life, this was it. It was far later than he had expected and he knew that because of his own stupidity and lack of time management skills, his only cover, interviewing witness, had been blown. Dean knew he was fucked unless he could come up with a semi-decent lie in the next ten seconds. He knew John wouldn't believe he was interviewing people until this late hour. He also knew that he couldn't throw out the old "doing research" card either. Either way he would have to know what they were hunting by now, and unfortunately he didn't. Dean cursed himself. He knew it was his own fault. He neglected his research duties because of his chance to see Sammy. It was supposed to be that memory that would be his saving grace tonight while he had his ass handed to him, but looking back he noted that the day's events weren't exactly worth the punishment. Dean thought harder trying to come up with something half way decent. He thought about telling John he tried to earn some money hustling a card game or pool, but due to the Great Winchester Depression his pockets would remain empty until one of the newly applied for credit card scams came through. This left only one lie available to him, he had been out drinking. His clothes didn't smell like he had been at a bar and he was as sober as a priest on Sunday, but it would have to do. Dean sighed and turned off the ignition. He trudged to the motel room door, and unlocking it and slunk inside.

John was sitting at the table; his journal was open, and so was a bottle of Jack.

"Check the salt lines," he muttered before returning back to his notes. Dean sighed in relief at the lack of an explosion out of his father; maybe it would be okay tonight after all. He closed the door and made sure the line of salt was unbroken. He then stood and made his way over to the bed, the one farthest from the door. Dean had to grin at the irony. He sat down and unlaced his boots pulling them from his aching feet. Next he slid out of his jacket and folding it neatly placed it on the bed. Dean sat in the silence for a moment trying to figure out his next move; he was uncertain how to act in the apparent lack of Hurricane John. Upon making a decision he stood, cracking his back he made his way into the bathroom to see how nicely his new shiner was coming along. It was ugly. Dean turned on the faucet to wash his face and the memory of today away.

The sound of running water brought John back to reality. He hadn't realized the Dean had come in. The order he had thrown Dean was one of instinct, easily given with his mouth on autopilot. He looked at the clock. It was a little late for Dean to be returning from running errands, and it was too early for him to be back if he met some pleasurable company. Instantly John was suspicious.

"It's late. Where have you been?" He called to Dean who was still standing in the bathroom.

"I'm sorry Dad. I lost track of time or I would have called," Dean replied.

"That's a rookie move Dean. You know better than that." John snapped.

"I'm sorry sir, it won't happen again." The faucet turned off, still Dean didn't emerge.

"So where have you been?" John asked again.

"Oh! Well, after a few interviews I went to the bar." Dean replied casually.

"The bar? The one on Alma Street?" John asked his hands clenching into fists. He knew something was wrong. Dean emerged from the bathroom a towel clutched in his hands.

"Yeah. That's the one." He dried his hands and tossed it onto the bathroom floor. "I'm sorry Dad next time I'll-"

Dean didn't get to finish his promise as the next second he was met with a fist in the face. Dean staggared back as John gripped his shirt and wrenching him around threw him against the wall where he held him.

"Lair," John hissed as he pressed Dean even harder into the wall, his fists balling in his sons flannel shirt.

Dean tried to keep his features smooth as he tried to talk some sense into John, "Dad I wouldn't lie about this."

A backhand slap snapped his head to the side and for a moment he saw black. "You really have the gall to lie to my face, you insubordinate bastard?"

"What are you talking about?" Dean said trying to pry his father off. It was like trying to break iron chain with his bare hands. "I'm telling you the truth…" Dean was starting to lose his conviction and that was dangerous.

"I was there Dean!" John shouted sending another slap across his mouth. "I left about an hour ago. No don't lie to me boy! Where the hell were you?"

"Dad…" Dean was slipping, he was losing it. It was all happening too fast.

"Answer me when I ask you a question! Damn it Dean! Tell me where you were!"

The room got silent as Dean lost his will to fight. He knew he lost. He knew he would feel his defeat in the morning. "I…I went to see Sammy…"

"You what!" John saw red. Before he knew what he was doing he gripped Dean and threw him to the ground. Dean crashed into the coffee table and it shattered under his weight sending bits of broken beer bottles and splinters everywhere. Dean could feel them digging into his back as he lay there trying to force some air back into his lungs.

John towered over him as he reached down and gripped Dean his hair, "Get up." When Dean didn't respond John yanked harder receiving a yelp from Dean, "I said, get up! That's an order."

Dean slowly got to his feet, his legs felt like jello. John dragged him back over to the wall. "You know what happens when soldiers disobey orders Dean?" He asked silkily.

"People die," Dean whispered.

"What was that? I can't hear you?"

"People die," he said louder.

"That's right," said John, "Do you think that's right? Should they be allowed to just disobey because they don't like what's coming from the chain of command?"

"No." Dean muttered.

"No what, Dean?"

"No sir!" Dean replied.

"So what do you think should happen to those who disobey?" John asked, getting right up in Dean's face.

"They should be punished sir." Replied Dean moving to stand a rigid attention, knowing that he couldn't avoid what was about to come one way or the other.

"Very good Dean," John began undoing his belt. "Then I guess I have no other choice but to teach you some discipline. Insubordination is intolerable. Take your shirt off, turn around and place both hands on the wall."

Dean gulped before doing what he was told. He braced himself against the wall and bit his bottom lip determined to take this punishment like a man. The first blow was unexpected as the leather ripped into his back. Dean grunted, and then reprimanding himself for his weakness bit down even harder, drawing blood. He was more prepared for the second…and the third….and the fourth. By the fifth, he was sweating with the effort to keep his cries of pain internal. Dean screwed up royally on the seventh lash as a moan escaped his lips. John seemed to find new vigor by his son's weakness and tore into him harder. The tenth came as a surprising whole new level of pain to Dean. It wasn't just the sharp lick of leather on flesh; it was a heavy thud and a jagged slice. Dean thought he had been punched with a knife, but then he realized that John had switched ends of the belt and it was in fact the buckle making the blows now. Dean couldn't suppress the scream that tore his lips.

"Quiet, boy! It's for your own good." John snapped, slashing at him again with the belt buckle.

Dean couldn't fight the tears filling his eyes as they spilt down his face. He sobbed as quietly as he could as John dealt out three more quick strikes with the belt. In his rage John threw the belt down, and swung into Dean's stomach as he yanked the kid around. Dean let out a grunt as he dropped to the ground, curling in on himself. John kicked him in the ribs a few times for good measure.

"You're pathetic," he yelled swinging one more steal toed boot into Dean's side. "You're weak. Real men don't cry; they take their punishments with a smile on their face. My son's are real men! And you aren't one of them!" John spit on Dean before grabbing his keys and heading out the door leaving Dean to pick up the pieces once again.

**Sorry the chapter was so dark and heavy. I promise that Dean will get a break (for a little while at least)…happy chapters are on their way. Soon I hope. Thanks for reading! Please review. Feedback is greatly appreciated.**


	3. Of Full Stomachs and Loaded Promises

**Hey guys! I know this is short...but I felt bad for not updating in a few days. I hope this makes up for the wait. I promise longer and more dramatic chapters are on their way...**

When he came to, Dean managed to drag himself to the bathroom to attempt to clean himself up. He fought nausea the whole way, worried of the consequences if he let his stomach get the better of him on the dingy carpet. It was bad enough that he was living a trail of rusty red in his wake and that he would have to clean the stains before he even thought of resting his sore body. Dean didn't remember exactly how he got to the bathroom and made a mental note to check for a concussion when inspecting the damage. Upon glancing himself in the mirror, he was taken aback by the war worn solider who stared back at him. His face was swelling up at an alarming rate and was already discolored by a grimy yellow.

Dean braced his hands on the counter and sighed. He turned on the faucet and washed the blood from his split lip away; upon reaching for a towel he was greeted by a new pain in his back. His heart sank as he turned around to find the source of his pain in the mirror. Littering his back were fourteen perfect welts crisscrossing his back; five of them were deep jagged cuts that bleed profusely.

_Son of a bitch!_ Dean thought as he realized the difficulty of tending to the wounds on his back by himself. Dean reached in his pocket, flirting with the idea to call Sam and ask for his help before he paused and dropped the phone back into his jeans. Their last parting was anything but cordial and Dean realized their Dad's harsh punishments were the reason for their fight. God only knew how furious Sam would be at Dean for calling and asking him to run back into their little family drama. No, Sam didn't want anything to do with them anymore and as much as Dean knew it hurt, he was going to respect Sam's wishes. Besides, he doubted Sam would pick up even if he called.

Just then the door to their motel thumped open. Dean flinched and debated if he could make it to the bathroom door in order to lock it before he passed out. The answer was very unlikely. Instead Dean stilled when he heard his father moving throughout the room.

"Dean?" John called.

Dean's brow furrowed at the tone. John didn't sound angry, or drunk, if anything he sounded concerned. _Surely that can't be right, _he thought as he found himself like a deer in the headlights. He was frozen as his body argued over which method to take, fight or flight.

"Dean?" John called again this time panic also added to his voice.

In the end Dean's voice won the battle raging in his head. "In here Dad," he answered.

John burst into the bathroom and again Dean found himself frozen with fear. "Oh good, there you are. You scared me. I wasn't sure where you were." John finally got a good look at Dean, "My God Dean! What happened?"

John rushed forward to help his son but stopped as Dean visibly flinched. "Please," Dean stammered out, "Don't hurt me."

John stared horror crossing his face. "Did I do that to you?"

Dean didn't reply he just looked down for a moment before attempting to rub some ointment into the welts.

"Here," John said stepping forward and grabbing the cream from Dean, "Let me help you."

Dean stood tensed as John gently rubbed the cream into his wounds. He was confused by John's carefulness and before long his body began to relax. Silence passed between them as John administered to Dean.

Finally John sighed, "Dean I'm so sorry."

Dean glanced in the mirror confused by his father's words ad wondering if this was perhaps a trap. The hazel eyes that met his through the glass were nothing but sincere and sad. This was a completely a different John from the one he had encountered earlier today. Like a switch had flipped.

"I'm sorry that I punished you as harshly as I did. That was wrong of me. You didn't deserve that."

"Dad," Dean whispered, not sure what he was going to say after that. He didn't get the chance.

"It just…it scares me. This life…you and Sammy…it scares the hell out of me. I'm sorry I take it out on you like I do Dean. You don't deserve it. You are a good kid; a good strong son who has done everything I ever asked you to do. I do see how hard you work for this family Dean."

John reached out to place a hand on Dean's cheek, Dean tensed and drew away. John sighed and lowered his hand.

"Anyways, I just wanted you to know that I am sorry. I want you to know that I do what I do because I love you and want to protect you."

"I know," Dean whispered. John finished wrapping Dean's back and turned him to face him grabbing his shoulders.

"So, are we okay?"

Dean smiled ruefully. He knew that John already knew his son's answer; because no matter how much pain he was in, no matter how much he could hate the man John was sometimes, he couldn't, wouldn't quit being the glue that held their little dysfunctional family together. Dean would always say the words his family wanted to hear, not because he felt them, but because they needed to be said.

"Sure Dad. We are just fine." Dean pasted a smile on his face a shrugged past his father into the living room. It was only then that he noticed the smell of diner food wafting through their motel. On the little kitchen table were two bags of food. Dean's mouth watered.

"I figured you probably hadn't eaten dinner in your rush to get back home. I thought you might be hungry." John said stepping over and pulling out two Styrofoam take-out boxes. He handed one to Dean; inside was a big fried chicken breast, mashed potatoes and corn. He looked appreciatively at his father for he had in fact had skipped out on dinner to make it home as fast as he could and now he thought about it, lunch to meet up with Sammy. Dean sat down at the table and his father did the same and they ate in comfortable silence.

_Yeah, we're good._ Dean thought digging into the mashed potatoes the events of the past hours forgiven and forgotten. He knew in his heart that his father was trying to be better and had merely stumbled upon the way. Maybe if there was hope for their dad, there was hope for Sammy to forgive him as well. Maybe tomorrow he'd give him a call.

**I promise this won't be the last time John apologizes for screwing up! I hope you enjoyed. Thanks for reading. Now go review!**


	4. Not Enough Coffee in the World

**Sorry this took so long. I've been really busy, but I felt bad leaving my readers hanging. So this is a little apology chapter. Hopefully, it will start to put Sammy back in a better light with everybody. Without further ado…Chapter 4.**

_They were running. Something was chasing them; something scary. He was frantically being pulled along, his little feet having a hard time keeping up with the panicked pace. He stumbled on the old wooden stair and fell, tears brimming in his eyes from the sudden pain. "C'mon Sammy," said a comforting if not tense voice from above him, "We have to keep moving."_

_ "But Dean," he cried. He just wanted to stop, to cry, to have someone kiss his booboos. _

_ Suddenly a terrifying, thunderous voice stirred him from his stupor. "Boys! Where are you?"_

_ "We have to go," Dean said grabbing Sam and lifting him to his feet. They ran up the stairs and into their tiny shared room. Sam turned to see Dean closing and locking their bedroom door and bracing his twelve year old frame against it. He looked frantic; desperately searching for a hiding place because knew that he couldn't hold back the monster on the other side of the door much longer. Dean spotted the closet door and quickly ran over to it tearing the door open. _

_ "C'mon Sammy. You need to get inside here," Dean called to the frightened eight-year old. He tried to move to the comforting arms of his brother but his fear of the monsters hiding in their closet, and the one coming to get them outside, had him frozen in place. Dean sighed and scooped him up and placed him gently, but firmly, in the closet._

_ "Sammy, I need to you to listen to me. No matter what you hear or see, you need to stay in this closet. Ok? Can you do that for me Buddy" Dean asked kneeling down and wiping away the tears streaming down Sam's face._

_ "I don't know if I can. I'm scared Dean…The monsters will get me!" Sammy sobbed._

_ "Hey," Dean gently grabbed Sam's face, "Nothing is gonna get you. Not while I'm around. But, I need you to stay put for me. Can you promise that you'll stay here?"_

_ "I guess…"Sam said tentatively._

_ "Good boy-" Dean started before there was a load bang on the door as someone tried to force their way in. "Stay put. It'll be okay."_

_ Dean shut the door, Sam was enveloped in darkness except for a thin sliver of light from where the door caught on an item of clothing blocking the catch. He instantly began to panic, his fear of the dark, small spaces, and monsters attacking his poor, frayed mind. He jumped when he heard their door being forced open, the door frame splintering as someone big kicked it in._

_**The monsters are here!**__ Sammy thought panic stricken. He got up to make a run for it before his mind caught up with his body. __**Dean! Oh no! **__Remembering his brother, Sam stopped and tried to fight his fight or flight reflexes…He had promised. He sat back down wrapping his arms around his knees in a futile attempt to comfort himself. He heard flesh hitting flesh and a stifled cry of pain. _

_ Sammy started to cry as the hits and cries became more frequent, he was going to loose it. He knew he had to stay grounded or he would break his promise to his brother and run out of his hiding place. He tried to remember what Dean would do to calm him down after he had a nightmare. Dean would hold him, and sing him a song…He wished Dean would hold him right now and sing him that song. He liked that song. __**Oh, what were the words to the song?**_

_ "Hey, Jude, "Sam whispered trying to block out the noises from the other room. "Don't make it bad…don't make it bad…take a sad song, and make it better. Make it better. Make it better…Please make it better!"_

_ "Dad! Please, stop!" He heard Dean say._

Sam sat up in bed. He was so soaked in sweat he was sure he had been swimming. His heart was racing. Bringing a hand up to his face, he wiped away the sweat and glanced at the clock. 3 a.m. He really wanted to call Dean; he needed to hear his voice, to be comforted by his words. Sam reached for the phone. He stopped. Would Dean even pick up if he called? They hadn't left on the best note. Sam didn't think Dean, even being angry at him, would ignore his call. Their training didn't allow for such petty matters to get in the way of each other's safety. But still, in the back of his mind he wondered. Sam sighed and pulled his hand away empty handed. Even if Dean would pick up, it was still three in the morning. If Sam inherited any trait from their father it was his stubborn streak and he refused to call Dean because of a little nightmare, even if there was more to his longing to contact his brother than that. He was a big boy now and would not degrade himself by calling his big brother, who was thousands of miles away, to come and chase away the bad dreams. Besides, what could Dean do? Sammy, Sam, was too old for a hug and 'Hey Jude'.

Sam decided it was too late for him to get a good night sleep, he had class in five hours, and instead he would try and get ahead on a research paper he had been putting off. Back home research always helped him get his mind of personal problems, maybe it would work here. An hour and an entire pot of coffee later he still couldn't seem to chase away the feelings of helplessness that had followed him out Dreamland. He knew it was his subconscious telling him that it wasn't right for him to blame Dean for the childhood he had. He knew that Dean had done everything in his power to give him "normal". He knew his brother loved him regardless of how big of a dick he could be sometimes; hell, the sacrifices he made for him were proof of that. He concluded that needed to call Dean. It wasn't healthy for either of them to stay angry at each other; after all they were all they had. He needed to apologize, he knew that. He would make it right. Maybe he'd find out if he was in the area and see if he still wanted to have a night out. Sam already began to plan what he would do, where he would take him. He wanted Dean to know his world, to meet his friends. That's what normal brothers did, they'd have a drink and talk about sports and cars and girls. Sam promised that they wouldn't mention hunting or their father. Yeah, he'd defiantly invite him to stay a while with him at Stanford…Tomorrow. He'd call Dean tomorrow.

**So that was mean of me to end it on a kind of cliff hanger, but hopefully I'll have another update very soon. You know the drill. R&R. Nothing motivates the muse more than words of encouragement, or even better criticism. **


	5. Of Too Much Coffee and Mokingbird Songs

**Hey Guys, sorry this took so long getting up. My life has been a little crazy and I haven't really been inspired to write at the moment. But this is pretty much leading up to the mjor showdown and the final breaking point between the brothers...so bare with me, redemption is on its way...well maybe...there will be a few more chapters after this one. But that's for another time. Anyways, i hope you enjoy.  
**

If there was one thing Sam learned was a bad idea, it was an entire two pots of coffee at three in the morning. Sleep deprived and now suffering a caffeine induced headache, Sam trudged to the library after a long day of classes. He hoped that after his head exploded all over the books he had to return to the shelves, they would send him home for some much needed rest. On any other day his work study job at the library was a godsend. It was a quiet place for him to unwind after a long day of lectures, and the lack of emergencies that came with the job allowed him to work on his assignments while manning the front desk. However, he knew that today the hours were going to drag on and his pounding head was not going to put him in a very pleasant mood. All Sam wanted to do was sleep, and in the quiet of his workplace fighting the Sandman only increased his headache.

Sam sat behind the front desk and pulled out his political science homework. Machiavelli didn't seem like a good aspirin, but having delayed the assignment as long as he could Sam knew he had no choice but to interpret "The Prince" now. Sam trudged through two chapters that on any other day would be enjoyable reading before he surrendered and closed the book. No matter how much he tried to focus on his work he couldn't escape the bad feelings tormenting him through his ringing head. He knew that even with all the Tylenol floating around in his system it still wasn't enough to chase away the nightmare still replaying in his head. As much as he tried to convince himself it was simply a bad dream; thought up over too many hours of pouring over domestic abuse cases for his law class and the added stress of a term paper that refused to be written, Sam knew that it would be a lie. He was too young at the time to remember all the details, but he remembered enough. He knew that he couldn't have been more than eight at the time, but the memory of that day still haunted him with vivid clarity. He remembered a mother's day that was marked by beer, blood and tears. He remembered never being so afraid of the man know to him as "Daddy" as that day. He remembered hearing the sound of meaty fists beating his brother to a pulp. He still felt the guilt that Dean only took the beating because he was doing his job. In his youth, when Sam did something he knew he shouldn't, his guilt would eat at him and that nightmare would plague him until his conscience became clear again. Back home the dream was terrifying; enough to chase him into bed with his ever patient brother long past the age when it was appropriate to do so. And through it all Dean would force himself to fight his groggy mind and find the right words and gentle embrace to comfort Sam and clam him back down enough when he could brave the Sandman again.

Sam sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in attempt to mount a counter defense against the war raging in his head. He knew that he needed to talk to somebody; it was the only way to chase the nightmare away; he needed to get things off his chest. It would be the only way to prevent the dream from reoccurring that night. And as much as he loathed the idea of running to his family for support, he knew that there was only one person who needed to hear what he had to say. He had to call Dean. Sam looked around to make sure the several librarians who were in charge were nowhere to be found before he slipped his hand in his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. It was going on eight. He wondered if he should wait until his shift ended at nine before calling his brother, that way he knew he wouldn't be caught making personal calls on the job and there was the possibility that they could talk for a lot longer. On the other hand, supposing Dean even picked up, he would be heading to a bar fairly soon to make a deposit to the Winchester Bank. Sam knew his brother's routine well enough to know that three times a week he would work the bars earning cash at hustling poker and pool to keep their funds up. When Sam was still home sometimes he'd go with him, fake ID in hand, to make sure transactions went smoothly and to keep his brother company. Before he left Dean was even teaching him the art of hustling, and Sam being a fast learner was good enough that if an emergency ever came his way he could fend for himself through those acquired skills. Sam smiled to himself. He could just picture his brother now, an easy smile pasted on his face as he worked his craft. He could hear his uproarious laughter at the confused face his latest sucker was making at him winning the game in three quick moves… He could just imagine the smart remark getting cut off as a pool cue swung for his gut. Sam paled. _That's it! I'm calling Dean, now._ He thought as he flipped his phone open, he never got the chance to press the speed dial button as a voice like a bell cut through his thoughts.

"Texting on the job? That's not very professional is it?"

Sam looked up and the retort he had was lost on his lips as he looked up at the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Her name was Jessica Moore he remembered, they had Sociology together. As he recalled that was the class he was doing most poorly in; due he assumed, from spending the entire class staring at her from across the lecture hall. Never before had he been so thankful for his skills as a hunter than on the first day of that class when he managed to admire her from afar for the whole period without her noticing. Now Jessica stood before him and he indulged his eyes to wander, stealthily of course. She was stunning, her hair was twisted up into a clip and her T-shirt clung to her in all the right ways; even after a full day of classes she still looked great, Sam noted. He realized he hadn't replied to her yet and embarrassed pulled himself from his trance sneakily bringing a hand up to his mouth to wipe away any drool.

Sam thought of something funny to say and when he came away with nothing stupidly replied, "What?"

She laughed softly, "You're Sam right? We have a class together."

"Sociology," Sam supplied a little too quickly. Trying to recover he added, "It's a great class."

She laughed again; Sam decided he loved her laugh. There was a moment of comfortable silence. It was then that he noticed the library books she clutched in her hands. "Oh, Geez! I'm sorry. I didn't mean to keep you waiting. Here, let me check those out for you."

Jessica looked down at the stack of books in her arms, almost as if remembering they were there. She smiled, "Thank you."

Sam just nodded and started checking out the books she handed him, finding her information on the computer. Out of curiosity he looked down and read the titles of the books, they all were sociology related.

Sam's brow furrowed, he thought he had heard she was an English major. "Taking up in a new hobby?" He enquired waving the book he had just scanned in his hands.

"No," She laughed, "It's for that sociology project that's due next week."

Sam's face went blank. _Project? What project? I don't remember reading that assignment anywhere…oh crap!_

Jessica must have noticed his puzzlement because she remarked, "You don't remember do you? Mr. Valdez assigned it in class last week. It wasn't in the syllabus. We are supposed to pick a theorist and apply their work to today."

_Smooth Winchester, _Sam thought, _this is what happens when you spend all your time admiring girls and not paying attention in class. Man, I'm more like Dean than I thought. At least he'd be proud that I'm going to fail a class because of a girl…well at least she's a hot girl._

"I guess it must have slipped my mind," Sam said handing her back the books.

"It's alright. Luckily for you, I think I have an extra copy of the assignment sheet, if you want it." She supplied.

"That…That would be great! Thanks!" Sam said thanking whoever was listening for his good fortune on this chance meeting.

"Great! I'll give it to you during class tomorrow." With that Jessica starting walking toward the doors before she stopped and turned back to Sam; he turned a bright shade of red having been caught watching her walk away. "You know, this sounds like one of those projects that's easier to do working with another person. I was wondering if maybe you'd like to work with me on it. We could maybe meet tomorrow around dinner and get a game plan together…you know…only if you'd want to."

Sam was just about to reply when his phone began vibrating, sending the chorus of Simple Man through the quite library. "Shit!" Sam yelped reaching for his phone where he had deposited it on the desk. "Shut up! Shut up!" He threatened sending the call to his voicemail.

Jessica laughed loudly this time at the humor of the situation. Sam just wanted to crawl under the desk and stay there until he died. Instead he put his best, 'I meant to do that' face on and replied, "I'd love that."

"Great!" She replied with a sigh of relief. "I'll see you tomorrow Sam."

She excited the library and Sam sighed. He glanced at his phone with a murderous glare. Picking it up, he saw that the voicemail light was blinking. Flipping his phone open he read: 1 Missed Call from Dean. Sam glanced at the time; he still had half an hour before his shift ended. He sighed and tried to find patience with the clock. He was anxious to hear from Dean. The last time they had talked was over a month ago and now that the anger had subsided he knew it was time to bury the hatchet. Sam spent the last part of his shift packing up his stuff, checking out a few more people before the library closed and throwing fierce glances at the clock, trying to intimidate it into speeding up time. Finally, after what seemed like hours, his shift was over and he was running out the door without a second glance, the phone already pasted to his ear.

"_Hey Sammy,"_ came Dean's voice from within his earpiece. "_Uh…Listen. I know we haven't talked in a while. You're probably too busy being the geek-boy that I know and love to pick up the phone. Anyways, I'm just checking in. I thought I'd see how you were doing, if there was anything you needed…Shit…um…I can't figure out how to not make this chick flicky, and I swear to God I will kick your ass if you bring this up again Bitch, but…I'm sorry. I'm sorry we parted on such bad terms…Anyways; it'd be great to hear your voice again. I'm climbing the walls just having Dad for company, cus we both know his crappy singing voice could drive anyone crazy after a few hours on the road together…I miss you Sammy…Ok. Chick flick moment is over. Call me back Bitch!"_

Sam smiled at his brother's obviously bad attempt at leaving a voicemail. After he finished listening to the message he pressed nine and saved it. He found himself a nice little park bench near his dorm building and enjoyed the fresh air brought by dusk. Sam flipped open his phone and hit Dean's speedial and waited while the call connected. It rang three times before switching to his voicemail message.

"_This is Dean. I can't come to the phone right now but if you leave me your name, number and where I need to kick some supernatural ass…I'll call you back."_

_**Beep.**_

"Hey Dean…its Sam. Dude, you need to change you're voicemail. I can't believe you still have that one…it's been years man! Anyways, I got your voicemail. It was waxing poetic for you…yeah. Listen, I'm sorry too man. It wasn't right of me to put all the blame on you and I defiantly shouldn't have hit you. You're my brother and I love and worry about you. I miss you so much! Uh, this is gonna sound stupid, and I know you already have a lot on your plate but…I had the dream last night. You know which one I'm talking about. And it would be nice to hear your voice, because it really freaked me out. I just want to make sure you're okay. So call me back."

Sam shut the phone and made his way back to his dorm room. It was still early evening but his head was killing him again. He had managed to forget about his headache earlier, but now it was coming back with a vengeance. He went over to his desk and pulled out another couple of Tylenol and dry swallowed them. Shrugging out of his jacket and shoes Sam collapsed on his bed, his feet almost hanging off the end. He decided he would try and catch up on some sleep, but he made sure he had his cell phone nearby incase Dean called him back. Within ten minutes he was sound asleep. His phone never rang.

** I hope this chapter was worth the wait. You know the drill, please read and review and give your darling author warm fuzzies inside!**


	6. Broken Ribs for a Mockingbird

**Hey all, thought I'd post this now because I'm going out of town for the fourth of July weekend and don't know where or when I'll get the internet. I hope you all enjoy it. It's another long chapter, and for all you Dean fans consider it a gift. **

It was about three in the morning when Dean finally stumbled home. And boy, did he hurt. He knew that his ribs were bruised and at least one was quite possibly cracked, but he was simply too exhausted to take care of it at the moment. Instead he fell unceremoniously on his bed, only taking the time to remove his jacket and shoes before he let himself slip into dreamland as soon as his head hit the pillow.

He knew he was playing with fire the moment he challenged that asshole at the bar to a game of pool. The guy was big, Sasquatch Sammy size, and had a seriously short fuse. Or at least that's what Dean reckoned after watching him force himself onto a pretty little red head all night. Up to that point, Dean had made a serious killing on a group of college boys who had made their way to Santa Cruz for a little R&R, and feeling good he decided to treat himself to a bottle of El Sol. As he sat there sipping Mexican beer he observed the couple. Even without using his knack for reading people Dean could tell there was a problem. The cute red head looked tense and slightly terrified, and kept trying to move away from Gigantor who was pushing himself possessively close to her every time she did so. Dean tried to ignore them, knowing the last thing he needed was to get involved. The past couple weeks had been hell for him, and adding another notch to his list of "Stupid Stuff He Should Stay Out Of" did not sound like a good idea. After all, Dad would be pissed if he drew more attention to himself than he had to, and starting a brawl in local bar would defiantly affect the former. They were in Santa Cruz hunting a possible phantom surfer who had a bad tendency to drown anyone unfortunate to see him.

Dean winced when the asshole grabbed the red head's arm hard enough to leave bruises tugging her to him. Every fiber of his being was going into protective mode, but he knew there would be hell to pay if John found out about at the unnecessary risk. When the guy backhanded her for something she said, Dean could stand it no longer.

'_To hell with Dad_," Dean thought quickly finishing his beer.

"Hey Buddy," he called stumbling over to them in a drunken swagger, "how about you leave the lady alone, huh?"

The guy turned to him angrily, the woman still in his grasp. "Hey, Dickhead! Why don't you shut the hell up and mind your own business?"

The man turned away from him and Dean moved forward and grabbed his shoulder warningly.

"I really think it's in your best interest to leave her alone," Dean said with a deathly calm voice.

The man swung around again, this time with fists raised. "Are you threatening me? I'll kick your ass you pussy."

Dean held up his hands in surrender, he was trying to save what was left of his face, which would most certainly not happen if John found out that this guy got his ass handed to him six ways from Sunday by his son in such a public place. "Whoa, Buddy! I don't want to fight you. I think we can settle this like gentlemen."

"What?"

"Let's make a deal." Dean said casually, "I challenge you to a game of pool. I win; you leave her alone and get the hell out of here. You win; I shut my trap and leave you two alone. What do you say? You _man _enough?"

The guy eyed Dean. It was obvious that he was drunk from the way he was holding onto the bar to stay upright and from his eyes swimming in and out of focus. The asshole smiled, it would be too easy; like shooting fish in a barrel. He also figured, even in the insane chance that he lost he could still beat the shit out of the little punk. Win, win.

"You got it, pal," he replied smugly. Certain he'd win.

Dean smiled smugly to himself. Sometimes it was just too easy, almost to the point where there was no fun in it.

'_But then again,_" He thought, laughing as he pictured the guy's face after he realized he had lost.

They made there way to an empty pool table and racked up the balls.

"You can break first," Asshole told Dean.

"Naw, man it's cool," Dean slurred indicating the other guy should break.

"I insist," he said more forcefully. Dean put up his hands in mock surrender before lining up his cue stick.

'_Like shooting fish in barrel_,' he thought as he pulled his arm back and connected with the cue ball on the forward stroke, sinking half the solids. The guy's eyes bulged at Dean's display of skill. In two more quick shots Dean had managed to clear the table of all solids and even managed to shoot the eight ball of the opposite wall and into the left corner pocket. The guy stood in disbelief, the red haired girl giggled. Dean turned to the man, smirk pasted upon his face and all evidence of drunkenness gone.

"Well, friend, you lost. Now, get the hell out," Dean said softly but firmly.

"It…It doesn't count. You cheated. You hustled me." The man said indignantly.

"Now, I wouldn't say that," Dean said mockingly, "You only _assumed_ I wasn't good at pool. What's that old saying? 'To assume makes an ass out of both you and me?' So, technically _I _did nothing _wrong_." Dean laughed before his eyes went cold, "Now I'm only going to tell you nicely just this once…leave."

The guy stood his ground stubbornly for a second before turning to leave. Before Dean knew what hit him, he felt a cue stick meeting his ribs.

Dean winced as he jerked awake by the sounds of the motel door opening and slamming shut. He shifted up in bed, his ribs screaming in protest as his dad's heavy boots clomped through the room; the smell of fresh coffee flitting throughout the room and pleasantly assaulting his nose. He stopped at the foot of Dean's bed.

"What the hell happened to you?" John asked noting the bruising cut at Dean's hairline.

"Nothing," Dean groaned forcing his body to move into a sitting position. He doubled over as soon as his feet hit the floor.

'_Shit!_' His mind screamed feeling the pain in his side flare. John was at his side in an instant.

"Oh really? That sound you just made didn't sound like nothing."

'_Did I just say that out loud?_' Dean thought frantically.

"Yes, you did," John replied. Quickly followed by a, "That too," at his son's puzzled look.

"Sorry," Dean said quietly, embarrassed that his mind hadn't caught up with his tongue yet.

"Dean, let me look," John said gently reaching for his son's shirt.

"No. I got it. It's fine." Dean replied trying to force himself to a standing position so he could make his way into the bathroom. John saw what he was planning and planted a firm hand on his shoulder keeping him on the bed.

"Dean," he said a bit more forcefully, "let me look."

Dean sighed and relented, allowing John to lift up his T-shirt. The scrunched eyebrows and tight lip was sign enough for Dean on how bad the damage was, that is, if the pain wasn't enough of a clue already.

"What the hell happened, Dean?" John asked honest concern in his voice.

Dean lowered his head refusing to look at his father, "It's nothing, Dad. A hustle gone wrong, that's all."

John dropped his head trying to hide how upset he was at what happened to his son. Sure they needed the money, and sure sometimes he was tough on Dean; but this, was crossing a line.

"Dad?" Dean whispered slightly embarrassed by what he was about to ask, "Do you think you can…I wanna see, Dad."

John understood Dean's meaning and helped him to the bathroom. Once they were standing in front of the mirror, John helped hold him up with one hand, while helping him lift his shirt over his head with the other. Dean nearly gagged at the sight. He had had his fair share of injuries throughout his young life. Hell, John had done a number or two on his chest a couple of times. But this was bad. His entire left side was a deep purple with bits of sickly green, yellow, and red around the outer edges. No wonder why his side hurt like the mother of all bitches. Dean reached down to feel for the breaks he knew had to be there and nearly collapsed at the feather light touch. He knew he would have ended up on the floor anyways if it hadn't been for his father's strong arms holding him up. Dean starred blankly into the mirror caught in a trance by the colors that adorned his chest.

"Dean," John said gently. When he didn't reply he tried again a bit firmer. "Dean."

Dean snapped from his trance, "yeah?"

"We need to wrap these, son," John said gently but firmly.

Dean blanched. It hurt just to breathe, was excruciating when he touched them, wrapping them was going to _kill_ him. "Dad, I don't know if I can."

"You can, Dean." John said using the tone only reserved for orders knowing sometimes it was the only way to get his son to comply. He helped Dean move to sit a top the lid of the toilet. He left the room but quickly returned with a bottle of Jack, a couple rolls of bandages, and a leather glove. Dean recognized it as one of John's from when jobs required that no traceable evidence was left behind to link them to a case.

"We're out of the good stuff," John told him apologetically handing him the whiskey bottle. Dean took a couple gulps, thankful for the numbing burn.

Dean eyed the glove, confused. John noticed and told him stoically, "I have to see what's broken. It's going to hurt, a lot. I can grantee you it will be impossible for you to keep quiet. I need you to bite down on this."

He stared at the glove dumbfounded as John dropped it into his lap. Was his father serious? Was he seriously more concerned about the noise Dean was going to make, than about how much pain he was going to cause? On the other hand, if John didn't worry about gagging his son and some concerned neighbor did call the cops they'd be in much more trouble. Dean conceded and took a few more gulps of Jack before slipping the glove between his teeth, effectively gagging himself. He nodded to his father.

"All right son," he said placing a hand on Dean's shoulder. "It's best if you try and stay as still as you can so I can do this as fast and methodical as I can."

With that John pressed firmly into his side seeking out possible fractures. John was right; Dean could not fight back the scream of pain ripping through his throat. The glove effectively muffled the sound making it sound more like pained mewls than actual screams as he bit into the leather until he thought his teeth would break from the force. John kept pressing along his ribs, no mercy in his touch and though Dean tried to tell him to stop his dad just kept on pressing. Finally, Dean could stand it no longer and pulled himself away from the fierceness of John's fingers. Out of frustration, John slapped him.

"Dean! Stay still. I'm almost done." He ordered continuing his examination. Dean bit back a pained sob but didn't fight the touch any more dumbfounded that he had been slapped for something that wasn't in his power to control. Dean shook as the pain became too intense again but mercifully John pulled away.

"Well, you seem to have a few minor fractures. The good news is you don't have flail chest, thank God. Let's wrap your ribs and get you some ice, but otherwise I think you'll be okay. I will run to the store and get you some Tylenol."

Dean nodded his understanding but refused to let go of the glove yet. Wrapping the ribs was painful, but not as excruciating as what he had just been through. When it all finally stopped Dean slumped forward, his middle section declaring it had suffered enough. He was so exhausted from the effort it took not move away from the ministration that as he sat there doubled over panting he couldn't even find the effort to spit out the glove.

John leaned over Dean and gently pulled the glove from his mouth, "Its okay baby. We're done now. You can let go, now."

Finally, Dean could stand the pain no longer. His mind was on overload. While it was true he was used to dealing with pain in his everyday life, he wasn't used to the tenderness his Dad was directing at him right now, and tired and strained he couldn't handle it. He lost it and began to sob, causing his newly bound ribs to jab at his nerves once again. At realizing that he was openly sobbing in front of his father Dean tried unsuccessfully to stop. John realized his son was slipping and wrapped him gently in his arms and held him close letting him cry it out.

"Shh…it's okay Dean. You've been through a lot. It's ok. I'm here." John comforted Dean through his wracking sobs. Finally after what felt like hours to Dean he was back in control of his emotions and allowed his father to help move him back into the motel room and into bed.

"I'm going to go get some ice for your side," John said grabbing the bucket. Dean sighed as he collapsed into the soft pillows on the bed. Regardless of what Sammy said, it was these moments, when it was his Dad and not the hunter John who was taking care of him that made him stay. They were the reasons that made him pick himself off of the floor on bad nights and still find a reason to still love his father and still be devoted to his family. But Sam wouldn't understand…

'_Oh my God! Sam!_' Dean reached for his phone where he had deposited it on the night stand. The little red message light was blinking. Dean flipped his phone open and listened to his voicemail.

"_Hey Dean…its Sam. Dude, you need to change your voicemail. I can't believe you still have that one…it's been years man! Anyways, I got your voicemail. It was waxing poetic for you…yeah. Listen, I'm sorry too man. It wasn't right of me to put all the blame on you and I defiantly shouldn't have hit you. You're my brother and I love and worry about you. I miss you so much! Uh, this is gonna sound stupid, and I know you already have a lot on your plate but…I had the dream last night. You know which one I'm talking about. And it would be nice to hear your voice, because it really freaked me out. I just want to make sure you're okay. So call me back._"

Dean couldn't help but smile at Sam's quip about his voicemail message. It warmed his heart to learn that Sam was ready to make peace too. If anything could have brightened what had thus far been a shitty day it was hearing from Sam. However, it troubled him that Sam was having that nightmare again. He could recall many times in his past when Sam would wake him up in the middle of the night almost sobbing, terrified of his dreams. He needed to call Sam. Just as he was about to press the speedial for him, John reentered the room.

"What are you doing, Dean?" John asked placing the ice from the bucket in a plastic garbage bag.

"I have a voicemail from Sam," Dean answered taking the ice John offered to him. "I was going to call him…" Dean trailed off noticing the look of displeasure that was painted across his father's face.

"Dean. I don't think that's such a good idea," John said seriously, "Your brother doesn't actually want to talk to you…he just needs something. After all he doesn't love our family the way you do. He is selfish Dean. He left us. He left you. Your life has been so much better without him in it. Why would you want to bring all the problems Sam caused back into your life?"

Dean whispered, "But, he's my brother."

"No, Dean. He stopped being your brother the moment he walked out thatS door. Sam is dead Dean. He's dead! Just let him go." John said fiercely.

"Daddy…"Dean began to plead, but quickly stopped upon glancing his father's face. John was losing his patience and it was written clearly in his stare.

"Dean, I'm going to the store to get you your Tylenol. I'll be back soon." John said reaching for his jacket and keys to the Impala. "Don't call your brother. I would appreciate it if you listened to me and didn't disobey me this time. You remember what happened the last time you disobeyed my orders. I'd hate to have to punish you like that again."

"Yes sir," Dean whispered.

"Good boy," John said softly smiling as he headed to the door. "Try and get some rest, huh, Buddy?" With that John turned and left.

Dean listened as rumble of the engines Impala became softer as John drove away. Dean was in turmoil over what he should do. Dean feared his father and knew that if he disobeyed and was caught the consequences would be very severe. On the other hand, this was Sam, and his brother needed him. Never in his childhood had Dean been allowed to ignore Sam's needs and he certainly wasn't going to start now. Whatever he was going to do, he had to make a decision quick because John would be home very soon and this might be their only opportunity to talk for a while. Dean decided to throw caution to the wind and pressed the speed dial button for Sammy.

One the third ring a voice answered on the other side of the line. "_Hello?_"

"Sammy," was Dean's shaky reply. It had been too long since he had heard his brother's voice and for a moment he had to remind himself he wasn't dreaming.

"_Dean?_" Sam's excited voice came over the line.

"Yeah Sammy, it's me."

"_Oh my God! It's so good to hear from you! I was worried you wouldn't call me back_"

"Are you kidding? It's me! When do I not call you back?"

There was silence on the other end, almost as if Sam felt guilt over his worries.

"So how are you dude?" Dean asked breaching the silence.

"_I'm alright... Actually, I'm great_." Sam said shyly.

"Why?" Dean teased, "Got yourself a hot date?"

Sam laughed; God how Dean had missed that sound. "_Actually, yes, Smartass_."

"No freakin way! Dude, your not gonna get arrested for being a pedophile, right, Sammy?"

"_Shut up_," came Sam's haughty reply.

"So is she hot?" Dean asked in all seriousness.

Sam laughed again, "_I'm your brother aren't I_?"

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean much with the type of dates you hook up with, Samantha."

"_Jerk_!"

"Bitch!"

"_Seriously though, her name is Jessica Moore and she is by far the most beautiful girl I've ever seen_." Sam answered blithely. '

"And you didn't have to pay her, huh? Well I'm so proud of you Sammy. That's just…that's great Sam!" Dean said pride radiating from his voice. His little boy was growing up. "So when's the date?"

"_In about an hour actually. Man you are so lucky you caught me before I turned my phone on silence_."

"Wow that is luck. So you're ok then right?" Dean asked sincerely.

"_I'm a lot better now that you've called_. _Out of curiosity, where are you_?"

"Santa Cruz…at some bum fuck motel called the Sunny Side Up Inn. How gay, right? Why?"

Sam laughed, "_No Reason_," he paused for a moment, "_Hey Dean? Don't kill me okay because I'm gonna go Chick Flick for a second…I'm really sorry man. I really am_."

"Sammy, stop. It's ok. I know you are. I'm sorry to…"

Dean froze as he heard the Impala's engine enter the motel parking lot.

'_Shit! I'm so dead!_' Dean thought trying to figure out the best way to cut their conversation short.

"Hey Sammy, I don't want to be rude or anything but I have to go. I love you kiddo!" Dean said shortly. He jumped as the door burst open and John Winchester stomped in. Dean flinched realizing he still had the phone clutched in his hands.

"What the hell are you doing boy!" John screamed. "I thought I gave you orders not to talk to him! I'm gonna kill you, you son of a bitch! I'm gonna tan your hide! I'm gonna make you bleed. Before I'm done you'll wish you were never born!"

"_Dean? What's going on? Dean? Dean!_"

Dean hung up the phone cutting off Sam's frantic pleas as John rushed toward him. He already knew that a couple of fractured ribs would be the least of his worries tonight.

**I like cliffhangers don't you? So here's the deal...review and I _might_ have the next chapter up in a timely manner...you don't and...we'll lets just say I have all the time in the world! JK! Seriosly though, please review. Happy fourth of July for the Americans reading this...for everyone else (that I truly do love) Happy July!**


	7. Sammy's Gonna Save a Mockingbird

**Hey everyone, sorry this took as long as it did to update. This was a very long, and hard chapter to write...but I am very pleased with the results. Thank you so much for all your encouragement. I hope you enjoy!**

"Dean? What's going on? Dean? Dean!" Sam screamed as the phone call disconnected. He was in a panic; he'd recognize that voice anywhere. It was John, and he was pissed. In his many years living under the eldest Winchester's tyranny, he had only heard him that angry one other time. The result of which had Sam laid up for a month or more while his arm mended. Dean's fingers on his left hand were still at odd angles, most likely from bearing the weight of John's booted foot. That particular incident had been the deal breaker in his decision to go to college. As he recalled John's anger had really been directed at him and Dean was only hurt because he tried to interfere after John managed to snap Sam's arm. Sam shuddered; Dean was in for a world of hurt if the tone of John's threats were anything to gauge by. Sam panicked. Should he call the cops? Or, would that make the situation worse? He knew where they were staying, and it was only an hour drive, half that if he didn't drive legally. Should he risk Dean's safety to race to them? Was Dean even in a condition to hold on until then? Whatever he was going to do, he needed to decide like yesterday. Sam wanted to cry, he thought he had left all this stupid shit behind him; but now, like an undertow, he was getting pulled back in. Sam spied the keys to his Civic on his desk and his decision was made for him. Spurred into action, Sam raced for the duffle bag tucked under his bed and fished inside looking for his eighteenth birthday present from Dean. His hand grasped the handle and pulled out a curved blade. It was really more a decorative knife than actual weapon. Dean had given it to him partially as a joke after they had spotted it in an "antiquities" shop. But, regardless of the purpose for which it was crafted, it would be used for other purposes tonight. Sam needed a weapon for protection and he didn't have the time, nor the means, to select something better suited. Sam tucked the knife in his waistband to sneak it out of the building, and grabbing his jacket and keys took off for the parking lot.

Halfway through the hallway he ran into his neighbor Katie, who was returning from the laundry room. Sam smiled, nodded and then started walking away before realizing he had overlooked something. Jessica Moore. Sam stopped and turning around called to Katie as she was opening her door.

"Hey Katie," He called; she turned. "Can you do me favor?"

"Sure Sam. What do you need?"

"I'm supposed to meet up with your friend Jessica to work on a project in an hour. There's a family emergency that I need to deal with…If you see her can apologize for me and tell her that I'll call her and find a time to reschedule?"

Katie could see how frazzled Sam was and quickly agreed knowing that Jessica would understand. Without another word Sam was sprinting for the parking lot. Sam raced to the Civic and as soon as the key was in the ignition he was tearing out of the lot. He just hoped he wasn't too late.

Dean staggered back as John's hand connected with the side of his face, sending him sprawling on the floor. He shuddered in intense pain as his ribs shifted agonizingly as they connected with the unforgiving ground.

"I warned you what would happen if you disobeyed me, Dean!" John snarled, leaning over and hauling Dean to his knees by his shoulder. John punched him hard in the face. "It hurts me to have to punish you, but if it's the only way to make you learn, it's a sacrifice I'm willing to make."

The world went black for a brief second as two more blows connected solidly with his face. Blood started gushing from his nose.

"Dad, please," Dean begged after a particularly brutal backhand to a bruised cheek. He tried to struggle and pull away from the onslaught but John held him firmly in place.

"This is for your own good. It's the only way you will learn to better. I'm doing this because I love you!"

Dean knew it was futile to beg when John was in this state but still he tried. "Daddy, please stop!"

John ignored him continuing the attack. Dean knew he wouldn't last much longer. He needed a break. He needed to get away. He spotted his opportunity to fight back when John took a brief pause to rest. Dean threw a round-house punch that connected with the side of John's face and then another one to his stomach that left him stunned enough to let go of Dean. Dean scrambled to his feet. He grabbed his phone and the Impala's keys off of the bed side table near where he had fallen and a made a desperate break for the door. He got a few steps before he was tripped by John, the phone flying out of his hands. John took a menacing step towards Dean reaching out to grab him and howled in pain as Dean struck out with the keys clutched in his hand, catching him across the face and leaving a deep cut where they connected. John clutched his cheek in pain and Dean took advantage of the distraction to scurry to his feet and bolt to the door. He grasped the handle and the yanked the door open; staring dumbfounded when it only opened a tiny bit. Dean looked at the door in panicked dismay when he spied the chain across the doorframe. His mind had neglected to remember that had been the first thing John did when he had returned.

Dean growled in frustration and reached up to unlock the deadbolt when he head John call out. "I wouldn't do that, Dean." He then heard the distinct sound of a gun cocking behind him as John pulled his Colt 1911 from where it was tucked inside the waistband of his jeans. Dean swallowed and putting his hands up, turned around slowly. Dean stared tensely past the barrel of the hand gun pointed at his face, to John who stood calmly clutching the ivory grips in his hand.

"Step away from the door Dean," John emphasized his point with a wave of his gun.

"Dad, let's talk about this alright," said Dean nervously, standing his ground. He loathed the idea of being cut off from his only escape route, especially when his very pissed father was aiming a loaded gun at his head.

John laughed menacingly before sighing and taking a step closer to Dean. "Still disobeying orders I see. We will have to do something about that. I said, step away from the door Dean. Now!"

Dean relented and took a tentative step forward. John grabbed his arm fiercely and yanked him forward placing his gun to the back of Dean's head.

"You should have run when you had the chance boy," he whispered in Dean's ear. Before he could reply his world went black as his father pistol whipped him. Dean dropped like a stone. John stood calmly over his son's limp body. "Someday you'll understand it's for your own good."

Sam gripped the steering wheel brutally. Of all nights to get stuck in rush hour traffic in

California. He took his anger out on the car in front of him by pressing heavily on his horn. He could have sworn he saw a middle finger go up in response. He huffed and sat back in his seat waiting for an opening to through in the stand still traffic. He jumped when his phone started screaming at him. He didn't bother checking the caller ID before answering tersely

"Dean?"

"_Uh, no. It's Jessica. Sam?_" Replied the voice on the other end of the phone.

"Yeah. Sorry about that, I was expecting a call." Sam replied sheepishly.

"_I gathered_," Jessica said sarcastically before her tone shifted, "_Is everything okay? I dropped by you dorm and Katie told me you ran out of there like a fire was on your tail_."

"I'm fine, I promise. Sorry I had to cancel so suddenly…there was a family emergency."

"_Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. Is everyone alright?_"

"I don't know yet. I'm on my way there now." Sam answered truthfully, his heart fluttering at her concern. "It's probably nothing. I'm really sorry about canceling on you though."

"_No need to apologize. I understand. I would do the same thing if our roles were switched. Go make sure your family is okay. We will find another time to meet up_."

Sam couldn't help smiling. She had to be the coolest, most kind woman he knew. "Thanks. I'll call you, I promise."

"_That sounds great. I hope everything turns out to be alright_."

"I hope so too. Bye Jess." He said softly.

"_Good bye Sam_."

The line went dead as she disconnected. Traffic started moving again and Sam cut over into the carpool lane and took off way past the legal speed. He prayed that someone upstairs was on his side tonight and would keep the road he traveled police free. "'_I would do the same thing if our roles were switched_,'" Jessica's words kept ringing in his ears. He sure hoped not. He wondered if Jessica, sweet innocent Jessica Moore, would have the strength to do what he was about to do. He wondered if he himself had that strength. He hoped he wouldn't have to find out. He hoped neither of them would ever have to.

Slipping back into consciousness was painful, Dean concluded. Every step back into the light brought a new level of pain with it. His face hurt, his ribs screamed in agony, and his head throbbed. As he finally opened his eyes he realized his shoulders burned and he mentally added it to his long list of apparent injuries. He lay face down on the floor, a small pool of blood was dried and caked onto the carpet as well as to part of his face; it itched and pulled at his skin. Dean slowly moved a hand to wipe it away and froze when he found he couldn't bring his arm forward. Dean tugged at his arms and gulped in panic when he heard a metallic click informing him that his arms were handcuffed behind his back. Dean struggled against the metal circling his wrists, tearing the skin in desperation.

"You're only making it worse you know." Dean jumped. He whimpered and struggled to a sitting position. John was sitting casually on his bed.

'Oh Shit,' Deans brain screamed and started struggling even harder in his bonds. He sobbed in frustration at only managing to rip his wrists further.

"Dean, Stop." John ordered cuffing his son in the back of the head.

Dean stared dumbfounded but stopped his futile struggles. "Dad, please let me go," he started to cry. "I'm sorry Daddy. I know I shouldn't have disobeyed you. I'm sorry. It won't happen again. Just please, let me go."

Dean began to sob uncontrollably; hurt and exhausted and terrified. John moved from the bed and kneeling before Dean pulled him into his arms.

"I know you don't understand why I'm doing this, but I promise it's for your own good." John comforted him, tucking Dean under his chin. "The sooner you learn this lesson, the sooner we can be a family again. Don't you want that baby? Don't you want our family to be happy again?"

"Yes," Dean sniffled. The tenderness of his father's voice confused his pain addled mind. So overcome was he with mixed emotions, the truth in his mind telling him this was wrong began to twist and distort until he didn't know which way was up. Maybe John was right to punish him. Maybe it was his fault that their little family had fallen apart. Dean had been bad and that's why he was being punished. He had driven his family apart; he angered his father and let down Sammy. He deserved what he got. That's why Sammy had left. Sam had left because Dean didn't deserve him as a brother; because he was worthless. John was a good father. He was doing what needed to be done, he was teaching Dean to be better. Dean knew he should be thankful that his father loved him enough to show him his mistakes and help him learn from them. He should be grateful that John had the patience to deal with his incompetence and did not turn him away. He loved his family, even if he didn't deserve their love in return, and he would do what he had to do to earn the luxury of their affection.

"Dean," John whispered, "You know you still need to take your punishment right?"

Dean stiffened; an ach in the back of his mind telling him that this wasn't right, but he chose to ignore it giving into his delirious hopes that that this would change things. He nodded his head and John helped lift him to his feet. Dean started to make his way to the wall for his usual punishment, but John grabbed him and started to move him towards the bathroom instead. Dean dug his heels into the ground; confused and terrified at the new turn of events.

"Dean, don't fight me." John warned clutching Dean under the elbow and forcing him into the tiny bathroom.

"I…I don't understand," Dean stated; he was tensed like a coil and forcing all his concentration into not fleeing.

"I realized that I have been trying to teach you a lesson the wrong way. How can you possibly learn, if you aren't afraid of the lesson? I'm sorry I have failed you thus far Dean; but, from now on I'm sure we will make much more progress."

John then released Dean and moving to the small, grimy bathtub began to fill it with water.

"What are you doing?" Dean screamed, snapping out of his stupor. He knew this was a dangerous line they were towing and he concluded he didn't want to find out what happened if they slipped. Dean started backing out of the room deciding he'd take his chances with another escape attempt, rather then discovering the new form of punishment John had in store for him.

"No you don't," John called tackling him two steps out of the door. "School wasn't dismissed Dean."

He pulled his gun out and aiming at Dean he gestured for him to kneel on the ground by the sink. He then moved forward and producing a length of rope, tethered Dean's bound hands to the water pipe.

"Stay," He ordered firmly before returning to the task at hand. Dean started hyperventilating as the water level in the tub continued to rise. He started to pull fiercely at his bonds and only succeeding in reopening the cuts to his wrists. Still the cuffs held.

'_I'm so screwed._'

Sam entered Santa Cruz in what could be considered record time and started his frantic search for the motel. After several main streets turned up a fruitless hunt he finally yielded and pulled up at a gas station to ask for directions.

"Excuse me," said Sam cutting in front of several people waiting in line. "I need directions."

The attendant was a man in his late sixties; and he had the attitude of a man who chose to work, instead of being forced to. His tanned skin was crinkled and dry like sand paper; the white tuft of hair he still possessed was barely enough to cover the liver spot atop his head.

"I'm with a customer Sony, who waited their turn for my time. You will have to do the same. The line starts back there." He pointed looking displeased at Sam's blatant rudeness.

Sam, however, was not to be discouraged by the man's reprimand and slammed his hand on the counter.

"Excuse me," he said firmly. "I need directions…It's an emergency." Sam reddened as the desperation of his situation made his voice crack on the last word. The attendant eyed his steadily and finding him in a very obvious panic sighed and relented.

"Where do you need to go?" He asked.

"The Sunny Side Up Inn." Sam stated.

If the man was startled by the strange request he didn't show it. "You passed it. That's on the outskirts of town, just as you enter the city. Get back on the highway and take the first exit out of town; its a little ways down the road from there. It'll be on your left, I believe."

Sam sighed with relief, and actually managed to crack a terse smile. "Thank you so much."

As he started to walk away the clerk called out, "Should I call the police?"

Sam stopped. Maybe he should ask him to. He could use the back up. But, then again, he knew getting the law involved would only make things worse. After all, both Dean and their father had records, and for all Sam knew, so did he.

He turned to the man and smile reassuringly. "No thanks, we're good."

"Well then Son," The man said firmly, "be careful."

"Oh, I will." Sam replied walking back to his car and pulling away.

The tap was turned off as the bathtub finished filling. The sudden tense silence drove Dean over the edge and he struggled so hard he was sure he had broken his wrist, but still the cuffs held.

"Dad, please," Dean begged as John leaned over him to untie the rope holding his cuffs to the pipe. John ignored him and helped him stand. He dragged Dean over to the tub, his son kicking and struggling the whole way. When they were standing over the porcelain tub, John kicked Dean in the back of his knees and he fell to the ground. John knelt behind him and wrenched him up by his arms until he was sitting up on his knees.

"You will never disobey me again," John whispered in Dean's ear. "Now, tell me what you're being punished for Dean."

"Dad, please don't," Dean pled in panic. John slapped him across the face.

"What are you being punished for Dean?" He snapped.

"F…for calling Sa…Sammy. For disobeying your orders…Daddy, please! I'm sorry." He sobbed.

"And do you think you deserve to be punished?" John asked ignoring his son's pleas.

Dean didn't answer and was rewarded with another slap. "Y…yes."

"Good. Now, hold you breath; and don't fight me, or I'll hold you down longer."

"Dad!" Dean screamed before his head was forced under the cold water. His heart was racing and each beat pounded in his ears. He instinctively tried to move his head to the surface, but a heavy pressure kept him under. He started to struggle as black spots started to dance around his vision.

'_This is it_' Dean thought. '_I'm going to die_. _I pushed Dad too far and now he's going to kill me._'

At the very last second, before he sunk into the comforting black of unconsciousness that was calling to him, he was wrenched above the surface and a painful swallow of air filled his lungs and brought him to. He sagged against the tub gasping and spluttering.

"I told you to hold your breath Dean, and not to fight me. You disobeyed my orders. Obviously you haven't learned your lesson. So now, I'm afraid, I'm going to have to teach it to you again."

Dean whimpered as John yanked him over the tub again.

"Now this time I advise that you do as you're told. I have all the time in the world and we will do this for as long as it takes for you to learn."

This time he didn't argue, he just took the largest gulp of air he could and held his breath as he was once again pushed under water. Dean forced himself to remain clam. He tried to focus on anything but his current predicament. Dean pretended he was back in the summer of '92 with Sammy in that neat little swimming hole they had found out by Uncle Bobby's house. He imagined that he and Sam were challenging each other to see who could hold their breath longer…Sam had given up long ago; but Dean was determined to do more than beat his kid brother…He was going to decimate him…Just a little longer. Dean could just picture the utter amazement on his snot nose brother's face at the feat. He could do this. This was easy…He tried to stay composed for as long has he could; until the blackness began to overwhelm his vision, and his lungs burned as they were desperately searching for oxygen. Dean began to fight against John's hold as his body shook with the need for air. This time he had just slipped in oblivion before John pulled his head back out. He escaped the warm darkness with a shuddering gasp. Dean coughed, his dry throat screaming. He slumped forward, exhausted. John really_ was_ going to kill him if he kept it up. He just needed a moment to rest…He'd be okay…just a moment…

"Again," John said forcing his head back over the tub. There was no time for a breath, and when he tried to gasp a desperate sip of oxygen he inhaled water. His lungs fought the intrusion and he chocked and coughed and only succeeded in swallowing more water that rushed into his open mouth. Dean in blind panic began to thrash against John's firm grip. John only pushed down harder on the back of Dena's head forcing him even further into the tub. Dean started to kick out trying to get his feet under him, but the handcuffs and John's strong hold kept him off balance.

'_Oh My God, he's serious. I really am going to die,_' Thought Dean as he stopped struggling and allowed the darkness to overtake him. He vaguely felt the pressure of John's hand disappear as he swam in the comforting bliss of oblivion. However, too weak to test the new boundaries, Dean simply allowed himself to float there. The next thing he remembered was being jerked, non to gently, from the water and a firm pressure being applied to his chest. Dean could feel the light of the real world calling to him, but he chose to hide from it in the blissful, pain free environment he found himself in. He felt his lungs being force-fed air. In his disillusioned state he thought he could hear his brother calling to him, but even in his peaceful oblivion he understood the impossibility such a thing was. If Sammy was truly there then it meant that everything was alright, their family was complete, and Dean would be allowed to be happy again. But he knew that things couldn't be like that that, they hadn't been for a long time and Dean came to a grimmer conclusion.

'_I must be dead.'_

Sam could have kicked himself when he saw the sign for the Sunny Side Up Inn from the highway. He concluded in his desperate drive to help his brother, he had been so focused on making it to Santa Cruz, that he had blocked out his surroundings. Now, he simply wanted to scream in frustration over the amount of time he lost due to the detour. Sam gunned it down the exit, almost flipping his Civic when he took the turn too sharp and too fast. He only hoped he wasn't too late as he raced down the street, blatantly disregarding the 45 miles per hour sign posted everywhere.

Upon reaching the entrance to the motel lot it was easy to spot the black muscle car parked in front of one of the rooms. The Impala stuck out like a sour thumb against the five or so mini-vans and SUVs parked at the motel so early in the evening. Sam flew into the vacant spot next to the Impala and drew his blade as he approached the door. He tested the handle and found the door was locked. Crouching down Sam fished out his lock pick set, listening intently for sounds of distress from inside the room as he fiddled with the lock. There was not a peep, if anything, it was eerily quiet. Sam heard a click as the lock turned and he gently pushed against the door. The door opened a crack before the dead bolt caught and held it shut. Without any hesitation Sam kicked the door in, snapping the chain in two.

H rushed inside, knife raised, and stopped dead in his tracks in puzzlement. The room was empty; and aside for the two duffle bags placed neatly at the foot of the beds, no one would believe that anyone was staying here. There were no signs of a disturbance or struggle, all the furniture neatly in its rightful place. Sam paused wondering silently if perhaps he had misunderstood and jumped the shark. Maybe he had over reacted and blown everything out of proportion.

Just then, he hear it; a splash. Sam stood stock still, thinking perhaps he was hearing things, but then he heard it again, this time more frantic. Sam sprinted to the bathroom door yanking it open. He almost vomited at the sight that had him frozen in his tracks. Dean was handcuffed, soaked, and leaning over the tub filled with water. His head was submerged as John held him under. The scariest part, however, was not in finding Dean in a prime drowning position, but that he wasn't moving. Sam saw red and rushed at John, who was too distracted with that task at hand to notice their new guest. John tensed when he felt a sharpened blade pressed dangerously at his throat.

"Let him go," warned Sam against John's ear. Spotting the gun sprouting from his jeans Sam reached forward and removed it, effectively disarming him.

"Sammy?" John said turning to try and face him, but Sam merely gripped him tighter.

"I said let him go you son of a bitch," Sam grit. When John made no move to comply, Sam nicked him with the knife to show he meant business. "Now!"

John let his grip on Dean go and lifted his hands in mock surrender. "You'd really do it Sam?" You'd really kill your own father."

"I still might," he warned wrenching John to the side upon noticing Dean still hadn't moved. In panic Sam grabbed his shoulders and yanked him from the tub. Dean lay limp in a puddle of water, his hair and clothes creating an ever growing body of water, but not even the rising of his chest broke him stillness. "You bastard! You killed him!"

Without hesitating, Sam began to perform CPR, frantically compressing Dean's chest.

"C'mon Dean. Breathe, damn it!"

After the thirty compressions and still no change Sam leaned over Dean and blew into his mouth. Pressing his ear against his lips Sam waited and prayed for any sign of life. When nothing happened he began the process again.

"Don't you do this to me. Don't you dare do this to me. You can't leave me you asshole. You can't! Dean. C'mon man. Dean!" Sam blew into his mouth again, and this time he was met with a shaky cough in response. A slew of water poured from Dean's mouth as his lungs expelled the liquid for some clean oxygen.

"Oh, thank God!" Sam sighed in relief as Dean started to come to.

"Sammy?" Dean asked deliriously. His throat sounded trashed. "W…what happened?"

"It's okay now Dean. I'm here." Sam said grabbing Dean and holding him tightly in his lap. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let this go on as long as I did."

Sam took in Dean's shaking form and nearly screamed in rage. Dean looked like he went ten rounds with a brick wall, and lost. If his injuries weren't enough clue of what he had to endure, the scared look in his eyes was indication enough. Dean struggle to sit up and Sam gripped him around the waist to assist. Dean screamed in pain and recoiled away from the touch the minute Sam's massive hands made contact with his battered ribs. Confused by the outburst, Sam lifted Dean's soaked T-shirt and spied the wrapped ribs underneath. Now he truly did see red. Pissed didn't begin to touch it.

"What the _hell_ happened?" Sam yelled at John who still sat stunned by the door. He seemed to snap out of his stupor enough to defend himself.

"Don't look at me. Dumb shit did it to himself."

Sam stood to kick his father's ass but stopped in his tracks at the sound of Dean's weak voice,

"Sammy." Dean pleaded, struggling to sit up. "Don't."

"It's okay Dean. I won't, I promise." Sam comforted kneeling next to his brother. He observed the red bruises extending out from under the handcuffs and to stave off his temper, turned his attention back to John who was slowly gaining his composure.

"Where are the keys to these?" Sam demanded. John sighed and fished into his pocket and pulled them out, tossing them to Sam.

"Sam, I…" John started to explain as Sam unlocked Dean's bonds.

Sam whipped around. "Don't! Don't even bother." There was a clank as the cuffs fell to the tile floor. Sam gripped Dean under his arms and helped him stand. Dean sagged and leaned heavily against Sam.

"I'm getting you out of here." Sam said to Dean

As Sam lead Dean past John he grabbed Dean's arm and tried to pull his son to himself, a look of terrified desperation on his face. Dean whimpered and flinched away from the touch.

"Dean. Wait! Please…"John begged. Sam slapped his hand away and then out of anger and repulsion struck out with his fist. It connected solidly with John's stunned face. He staggered back tenderly clutching a bloody nose.

"Get. Away. From. Him." Sam warned in a dangerous tone. He brought John's confiscated hand gun forward and aimed it at John. John tensed and backed away from his sons.

Sam escorted his brother past a hysterical John and out to Sam's car. Sam opened the door and gently placed him in the passenger seat. Dean began to cry in humiliation that his helplessness brought him. Sam could see that his brother was cracking, and keeling down beside him forced Dean to look into his comforting and understanding eyes. Dean truly did look pathetic, like a drowned puppy that had been kicked one too many times. Sam felt a pang of guilt at the realization that Dean seemed to live in a constant state of pain, and that he had allowed himself to ignore what was going on in his family for far as long as he did. Sam felt sick, he knew that he only saw the tip of the iceberg when it came to the abuse that Dean had suffered at their father's hands; and he was saddened by the fact that he didn't know his family, especially his brother, as well as he thought. Before he knew what he was doing, he had wrapped his gigantic arms around Dean's neck in a comforting embrace. Dean flinched away from the touch at first, a strangled cry of protest forcing its way past his lips before he resisted no more and sunk into the embrace. Sam shuddered at the raw emotion Dean allowed himself to show; his warm gasping breath and hot heavy tears indication enough that things were not alright. Sam concluded that the only way he could protect Dean was to not linger in this place anymore. Dean would come live with him and they would recover from this together…Sam would help fix Dean. He'd help him through the years of pain and depression. He would build his brother up again; help him believe he was the superhero Sam always saw him for. He would be there for him; for as long as it takes.

Sam gently pulled away from Dean, who fought and tried to move with the reseeding shoulder.

"Shh, its okay Dean." Sam comforted lifting Dean's chin so their eyes would meet. "You're going to come stay with me, okay?"

Dean nodded. To tired and defeated to really comprehend exactly what those words meant.

"Okay, you stay here," Sam said softly moving to stand. "I'm going to go grab your stuff. I'll be right back."

Sam closed the car door and drawing the gun he took from John moved back into the room. Sam paused in the door as a lamp went flying towards his head and shattered on the wall next to him. The once meticulously clean room was now trashed; sheets ripped off the bed, furniture strewn about and tacky décor in shambles. And in the center of all the chaos was John. He looked wrecked, worse than Sam ever recalled seeing him, even after the hardest of Miller shifts. To Sam he looked like a man truly at the end off his rope.

"Why, Sammy?" John turned his bloodshot eyes toward his youngest.

"Why, what, Dad?" Sam bit out the words resentfully stalking over to Dean's duffle bag placed on his bed, the Colt 1911 still gripped firmly in his hands.

"First, you leave me…and now you're taking your _brother away from me_!" John yelled charging Sam. Sam simply raised the gun and aimed it at John who sneered but stopped his momentum. "Go ahead and shoot me, Sammy. It's obviously what you want to do."

Sam huffed, and ignoring John's taunts, and his own temptation, began repacking Dean's bag.

"This is all your fault, you know." John stated. "If you hadn't of left, none of this would have happened."

Furious, Sam whipped around, slamming the bag back into the bed. "Don't you dare give me that bullshit! My fault? How is you being a sadistic bastard, anybody's fault but your own? You were always like this Dad; so don't you dare blame anyone for your mistakes but yourself. No one forced you to be this way. No one put a gun up to your head and made you hit your kids! That's all you're doing; you alone made those choices."

"Don't you talk to me like that boy!" Angry at Sam's defiant outburst John struck out slapping Sam across the face. Before he could follow up with another blow, he found the cold hard barrel of his own gun staring him in the face.

"You will not touch me again." Sam warned cocking the gun. "You will not harm any of us, ever again. For too long I've stood by, watching you beat the holy hell out of the one person who loves you so much that he can look past the pain you put him through on a daily basis. You don't deserve Dean…I don't either. He is a better man than either of us will ever be. For years he has let us push him around, bearing our anger willingly; all for the sake of keeping this 'family' together. He has defended you always, without a second thought, even when you don't deserve his forgiveness…Well it's time someone stood up for him. I can't just sit by anymore and watch the latest bruise heal and fade. If it's the last thing I do on this good earth, I will help Dean find the strength to build himself up again, after allowing you to tear him apart for years."

With that Sam grabbed Dean's duffle and started to move to the door. John seemed to crumble under the realization that he was truly alone. He collapsed to the floor and began to sob.

"It's best if you lost our numbers," Sam stated, taking a step outside the door.

"Sammy, please," John begged, "I need him….Please, don't take him away from me!"

"I'm sorry Dad," Sam sighed. "But you did that yourself years ago, the first time you left your mark."

Sam then turned on his heel and made his way to his Civic. Peeking in the window, he could see Dean curled up tightly in a ball, trying to find comfort and warmth in the position. Sam's heart caught in his throat; no matter how old Dean got when he slept he still looked like a little boy. Sam walked to the trunk and once it was opened placed the duffle inside and then pulled out a blanket he had left over from a weekend trip to the beach. He opened Dean's door and placed the blanket over his brother. Dean stirred turning his bruised face towards his little brother. For a moment he was lost in confusion.

"Sammy?" He asked quietly.

"Shh…Dean." Sam whispered brushing a stray, wet strand of blond hair from his forehead. "Everything's alright. You're safe now."

**So I hope that satisfied everyone's call for blood. Anyways...this isn't the end...I think I have about two more chapters left of the story**. **Hope you enjoyed. Feedback is much appreciated. **


	8. Maybe Perfect After All

**AN: sorry this took as long as it did for an update. The semester has started up again so it may become difficult for me to update as regularly as I want. I would like to address several comments I got over John's behavior for the last chapter…I promise I do have a plan in mind, and that his actions and emotions will be explained in full. Anyways, enough rambling…Enjoy!**

The beer felt cool and refreshing on Dean's lips; a gentle kiss of fire as it spilled lovingly down his throat. The dorm he had been "living" in with his younger brother was quiet in the midmorning stillness as it's residence were all dutifully off in class or as Dean pointed out to an aghast Sam, sleeping off a hangover. The sound of an Oprah rerun was really the only thing that broke the silence that had begun to consume Dean's world; it had been that way since Sammy had left for Stanford. Dean felt like his life had been locked in a sound proof room, and only the occasional bought of John's anger could pierce the oppressive nothing; but never the less he felt trapped and that no one could, or ever would, hear his screaming. Dean shook his head, trying to chase away the angsty thoughts that had been following him for months now, and tried to focus on the talk show.

While Dean would never admit it out loud, he actually really did like watching Oprah. Since the first time Dad had left Sammy in his care while he went to take care of a "big bad", she had always been a part of his life. At first it was on of the crappy daytime shows their shitty motel cable picked up; a way to chase away the oppressive worry that came with being locked in a too quite room for days with a napping Sammy waiting for a phone call from their absent father. As he grew, she became part of his "parenting" routine; her voice comforting as he folded laundry and picked up the tiny space they called home, as Sam sat, within eyesight, outside on their porch doing homework when the weather allotted. As they years marched on Dean began to realize she was more than just white noise that filled his days; she was a comfort, a constant. Oprah was the only female voice that had consistently been part of his world since the tender age of six when their Dad finally decided he was old enough to be the man of the house. And while Dean realized just how pathetic it was to consider, or even contemplate, the talk show host replacing his metaphorical sense of the word "mother", he also found it soothing to have something so consistent in the unpredictable childhood he grew up in. He didn't realize just how much he depended on hearing her voice, at least once a day, until Sammy went away to college and he found himself, if possible, even more on his own than before. While Sam had been living with them, Dean had only tuned into her show when he knew he was home alone, too embarrassed at the prospect at Sam teasing him about his estrogen levels to dare watch it when Sam wasn't in school. But in the first crushing month after the black hole, that had replaced Sam, entered his life, he found himself almost obsessively watching her. She consumed his life, no longer just background noise, but a part of his life. It even got to the point, in the darkest days of the first couple months, that Dean went as far as recording her voice on a tape cassette and playing her in the Impala as he drove to the latest hunt, his father in their other truck of course, and plugging in ear phones and playing her as he curled up in bed and cried himself to sleep at nights.

Dean took another swig of his lukewarm El Sol and sunk farther into the couch to watch the show.

"Coming up next: Abusive Families. A father and his drinking problem. A daughter tired of trying to fix their strained relationship. Are they really a broken home, or can their bond still be fixed? We'll find out, after the break. "

A cold stream of sweat began to make his way down his back, jumping a bit when an overloud commercial for a George Foreman grill screamed and startled him. Dean quickly reached for the remote, muting the TV. The motion jarred his still healing ribs and he grabbed himself and doubled over slightly.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean muttered, trying to get his breathing back under control. "Fuck you George. Fuck you very much."

Dean knew he should be thankful that slightly sore ribs were all he was being tormented with right now. Even he, who down played every injury, knew that he truly would have been screwed if Sam hadn't showed up when he did. In the back of his mind, he could still feel himself fighting to breathe, still feel the burn as water made its way down his throat, could still feel himself slipping away into nothing; drowning. Dean took another drink of his beer trying to drown the memory.

_He can see streetlights flashing past his hazy vision at top speed. He had never felt so cold in his life. Even with the thick blanket Sam had piled on top of him he was still shivering. Sam had said something about shock. _

"_No more arguments Dean," Sam bit tensely, his grip on the steering wheel evidence enough how worried and stressed he was. "You need a hospital. You almost drowned; your ribs could be broken. For all we know you could have flail chest."_

"_Not broken," Dean mumbled miserably from where he was buried under the blankets. _

"_It doesn't matter. I still need to get you to a hospital." Sam argued._

"_No!" Dean tried to sit up, slumping over at the pain the filled his abdomen. He sank back down into the seat. "Not a hospital. I'm fine Sammy. Please no hospital."_

"_Dean," Sam retorted anger and frustration coming through in his tone. "You are not fine! Dad worked you over…You should be dead. DEAD. You could have died!"_

_At the sound of a bit off whimper Sam turned to look at his brother. Noticing Dean attempting to sink farther back into his seat and realizing it was out of knee jerk fear, he softened his tone. _

"_I'm sorry. It just…It scares me you know." Another whimper from Dean was the only reply Sam got. Mistakenly taking it as a need for him to explain Sam continued. "That's why I got out. This life…Dad and you….not knowing if one day the thing you two were hunting would get you first…being alone…it all scares me. And Dad…that he could just…to his son…it's not fair…"_

_Sam's eyes had begun to water and he wiped them away in attempt to clear his vision and keep an eye on the road he was tearing up at 110 mph. He jumped at the gentle hand placed on his arm._

"_It's okay Sam." Comforted Dean, "Nothing is going o get you…us. Not while I'm here, not while we are together." Sam glanced at the hand on his arm and Dean quickly pulled it away._

_An awkward silence filled the car as Sam struggled to get a hold of his emotions and Dean attempted to drag himself from the helpless stupor his body was forcing upon him. He was tired, and truth be told a little scared; but then again he guessed they both were. Glancing at the tight muscle of Sam's jaw Dean gently reached out a hand toward his little brother. Sam jumped at the sudden touch but leaned into it rather than pulling away; almost like he need the contact as much as his brother._

"_Sammy," Dean said firmly. "I'm scared. Please, I don't need a hospital; I just need some rest. I'll be okay. I promise. Everything is alright now. Please no hospital."_

_Sam sighed and then turned his blinker on to get over to the exist that would take them to Palo Alto._

"_Fine, but at the first sign of this having any life threatening repercussions….I'm dragging your ass to the emergency room whether you like it or not." Sam turned to Dean and with a proud smirk pasted on his bitch face added. "Because now that I'm bigger then you I can make you do anything I want."_

_Dean sighed and sunk back down into a more comfortable position in the car seat, but not before retorting with a friendly, "bitch" in Sammy's direction._

_He could have sworn he heard "jerk" come from the other side of the car as he closed his eyes and let sleep over take his weary body._

The sound of a heavy guitar rift filling up the quiet room made Dean jump, a yelp of pain escaping his lips as again the motion jarred his sore ribs. Dean leaned across the bed, careful to not do anymore damage to his side, and picked up his phone. Not bothering to glance at the screen, and slightly pissed off that his phone scared him as much as it did, Dean answered.

"What?" He grumbled into the mouth piece.  
"Um…yes, is this Mr. Winchester?" Came a sweet, but slightly flustered female voice from the other end of the phone.

"Who's asking?" Dean replied cautiously.

"Um…I'm Nurse Sanders at the AMI Community Hospital of Santa Cruz. I believe we might have your father in our care."

Dean shot up in his seat, hunter and panic mode setting in faster than his body could handle. "Sonofabitch!" He muttered just slightly under his breath as he felt the world do a scary vertigo.

"What was that?" The nurse asked confused.

"What? Nothing…" Dean hissed trying to breath through the pain. "What happened? Is he alright?"

"He's stable, now." Said the nurse gently. "We believe that he was mugged. Some Good Samaritan brought him to the emergency room…I'm sorry this must be for you to hear."

Dean sucked in a tense breath. He knew the likelihood that John had in fact been mugged was pretty slim, he was willing to beat everything he had that these injuries were the result of a hunt gone sour. Guilt started to eat at his insides under the belief that if he had been their for his father they could have been prevented. "No, I appreciate the call. How did you get this number anyways?"

"You're registered as his In Case of Emergency in his phone. I'm assuming you're his son…um Dean?"

"Yeah, that's me." Dean said softly, "You said he's stable?"

"Yes. I can't give you too many details over the phone, but yes we got his condition stabilized and now we are just waiting for him to come to. It might be nice if you were here for him when he does become conscious, sometimes it's hard for some patients to wake up alone."

"I…I don't…" Dean's mind was torn in two. Every fiber of his being was going into solider mode, good son mode. He so wanted to be there for his father, but there was a darkness in his heart that was afraid to face the man again anytime soon. "I'm a few hours away…"

"I understand," said the nurse gently, seemingly picking up on Dean's hesitation. "We'd like to keep him for a few days for observation. He is suffering from a concussion and we would like to run some tests if that's alright. Nothing to worry about; we just want to make sure everything checks out in the cranium of his."

Dean almost had to laugh at that. Of course something wasn't right in "that cranium" of John's, it couldn't be for the way he treated his children, but Dean knew it would all still check out as normal. "That's fine. I will be there as soon as I can. How long do you think before he comes to?"

"Well with all head injuries it's hard to say…hopefully soon. Don't worry Dean, your father appears to be a tough old bird, I have no doubts he will be back to himself in no time."

Dean actually did laugh at that. "You have no idea. That's so much for the call."

"It's my job. Maybe I'll run into you when you come to see him."

"Maybe you will," Dean flirted back. "You take care."

"You too, Dean."

The phone call disconnected and Dean slumped forward on the bed, all his strength seeming to disappear with the cheery voice on the other end. Guilt was eating up his insides. Every fiber of his being was pushing him to rush to his father's side. Yes, he was scared, even if he wouldn't fully admit out loud; he was terrified to be alone with his dad, worried that next time he wouldn't walk away. He might be a self sacrificing "blunt little instrument", as Sam had pointed out to him on more than one occasion, but even he wasn't enough of a masochist to not fear for his own life. He felt awful for having those feelings, especially related to something as important to him as family; but not even he could deny how dangerous his father had become. But then there was another side of him that knew that he would always go rushing back in; would always be there to protect…After all, all his life he was programmed to put family first, above all else, and he sure as hell wasn't going to stop now.

He drained the rest of his beer in one thick gulp and threw it in the trash can he would empty it before he left. Dean sighed and jumped up from where he had been resting; reaching for the remote he turned off the TV, Oprah long since forgotten. Dean started to move about the dorm room gathering up his things from where they had been strewn about in the few weeks following the night of the "drowning" and stuffing them back in their rightful place in his duffel bag. Dean grabbed his jacket and gently placed it atop his stuff. He glanced at the clock and his heart started to race. Sammy would be back from class soon. Dean knew that this was his only chance to leave, as soon as Sam returned he would lose his conviction, if he was going to do this it had to be now. Not wanting to panic his little brother with his sudden disappearance Dean began to look around for a piece of paper and a pen he could leave a note with. Upon locating one the desk he began to write a hasty note.

_Sammy,_

_Couldn't stay, there was an accident. Dad's in the hospital and I need to take care of him. Don't be mad at me for leaving, because as much as you hate him, he's family too! Thanks so much for everything. You really are a great kid. Take care of yourself, and hopefully I will see you again soon._

_ Dean_

Dean placed the note where Sam would see it and rushed back over to his duffle that was on the bed. Grabbing his stuff Dean started to make his way to the door when suddenly stopped, realizing the great flaw in his plan. Dean started patting his pockets for his keys. They were nowhere to be found. Dean let out a humorless laugh. He didn't have the keys, he had lost them in the scuffle and he's sure Sam didn't pick them up. Not that it mattered; the Impala was still back at the inn. Just then the lock turned on the door handle and Sam came strolling back into his room. He looked slightly tired from a morning full of classes, but as soon as he saw Dean, his face lit up.

"Hey," Sam smiled.

"Uh…hey," Dean said trying to return the enthusiasm in Sam's voice.

Sam glanced the duffle in Dean's hands, "What are you doing?"

Dean threw the duffle back guiltily back on the bed, "nothing just doing some house keeping. It's bad enough you live like a pig, but after living here a few weeks I'm getting corrupted and that's just not cool."

Sam laughed and moved to throw his backpack down by his desk. Dean spotted the note he had left for Sam there and quickly pushed past Sam to the desk, snatching the note away.

"Dude," Sam exclaimed, "What's your problem?"

"Nothing I was…." Dean glanced around the desk looking for an excuse; lucky for him Sam readily supplied one.

"You weren't looking up porn again on my computer were you?"

Dean blushed, "I…um…No!"

"Dean! You can't do that here. If they catch on that it's me looking up….you just can't do it here."

"C'mon Sammy," Dean teased, his voice a mock complaint. "A man has needs. Needs "Academia" can't fulfill for all of us."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sam bitched taking the bait.

"All I can say is that listening to you having wet dreams over Machiavelli every night, has reminded me that I have neglected Little Dean long enough."

Sam stood in shock for a moment trying desperately to think of a retort, his bitch face becoming steadily more and more apparent with each second that past. "I do not…You….That's….You better not have it frozen on again!"

"So," Dean said hastily changing the subject; secretly patting himself on the back for getting away with what he was really doing. "Who wants lunch?"

Dean tried to act normal through the rest of the day. Lunch had been hard for him to stomach, a lump of cold guilt making digesting anything extremely difficult, especially while he listened to an oblivious Sam chatter on happily about what he was studying. Dean had never felt so torn in his life. He craved moments like this; when Sam was content and they could pretend to be normal even for just a little while. But John rotting away in a hospital was slowly ruining his day and turning his mood sour. He tried his best to hide his change of emotions and for the most part he succeeded…Well maybe not, because Sam offered to blow off his homework for a while to go out and have a drink instead. Dean had raised his eyebrow at Sam's offer to go bar hopping, but readily agreed deciding that perhaps a few beers would make things easier.

It was perhaps what both Winchester boys needed. A night on the town seemed to help calm both of their over fried nerves. A few phone numbers and several beers into the night, they found themselves at the Bonefish Bar. It was the kind of a joint that Dean liked best. The music was good, the chicks were hot and the pool table was free. As soon as they had entered the place they had staked at claim at one of the tables, instantly starting a "friendly' game of pool. Dean lost the first game, insisting he had "let" Sam win, though secretly he was proud that his little brother had kicked his ass fair and square.

"Those girls were cute man, and they were totally checking out your lanky ass, so explain to me why the hell you weren't biting." Dean goaded racking the balls.

"One word for you Dean," Sam replied with a sigh.

"Gay," Dean interrupted with a laugh.

"Not funny," Sam whined, breaking.

"Oh on the contrary, it's hilarious," Dean laughed harder. The crack of several solid balls finding there way into pockets made Dean cringe; maybe there was hope to turn Sammy into a hustler yet. "No but seriously, what aren't you telling me. You might be the straight and narrow of the Winchester clan, but you still are a guy."

"Jess," Sam replied gently.

"What?"

"Her name is Jess." Sam said slightly embarrassed.

"Wait, you're seeing some girl, more than just part time, and you didn't tell me?" Dean asked, almost hurt.

"Well," Sam said turning a nice shade of red, "Not exactly."

"What do you mean not exactly?" Dean asked, taking his position on the pool table to take his shot after Sam's last shot succeeded in sinking nothing. "You either are or aren't"

"Well then I guess we aren't…" Sam said quietly taking another sip of beer. "I really like her…"

"Okay? So what's the problem?"

"She just doesn't know it yet…I just….We've never been in one place long enough for me have a steady relationship."

"Sam," Dean started, not exactly sure what to say, always slightly uncomfortable with these moments.

Lucky for him, Sam spared him the trouble of finding words. "So who wants another beer?"

"Yes please," Dean sighed in relief handing Sam his empty bottle.

"One Sam Adams and a crappy Mexican beer coming right up," Sam headed toward the bar as soon as the words had left his mouth.

"Hey!" Dean shouted after Sam. "Don't diss the El Sol! You're just jealous that you're not old enough to be drinking the "real man" drinks!"

Dean laughed to himself, how he had missed doing this. Guilt was still eating away inside him, but with his brother nearby the pain was numbed substantially. He watched his big, lanky and still slightly awkward brother slouch over the bar and blushing as he asked the cute bar tender with big jugs for the drinks. No matter how old or mature- which Dean still found questionable- Sam got he would always be a little kid in the eyes of his brother. For once, Dean felt content.

Dean jumped as the phone in his pocket started to ring violently. Confused by who would be calling him; Dean flipped the phone open and answered cautiously. "Hello?"

"Dean?"

**AN: Updating as frequently as possible…I now have a beta, however, she hasn't had the time to once over the chapter, so I apologize for any grammatical errors I may have missed in my own self edit. Hopefully this was a decent apology to my readers for making you wait as long as I did for an update. More, slightly darker, chapters soon. Reviews are always appreciated. **


	9. Of Coffee and Phone Calls

**I am so incredibly sorry this took so long to update! School is back in session and I have been overloaded with work...but I promise I will try much harder to update as frequently as I can. Also, I know I had lot's of people asking about why John was the way he is...hopefully, this will help explain things. Just like i don't own Superntaural, I am not, nor will I ever be, a docois tr and so anythign medical related is simply my best guess...Please overlook my ignorance and enjoy!**

"_Dean?_" Came a soft voice from the other side of the line.

Dean plugged his ear in an attempt to better hear the voice over the sounds of the bar. His pulse was racing, and he struggled to swallow against the lump clogging up his throat.

"Dad?" Dean's voice cracking on the question, "I was on my…Are you still…?"

"_Yeah, I'm still at the hospital_." John interrupted

"I…I thought you were…" Dean stammered trying to get a hold of himself.

"_I came out of it a few hours ago_." John said softly,

"Dad," Dean felt the guilt overwhelm him, "I'm sorry. If I had known_"

"_Dean_," again John interrupted, "_Its okay…We need to talk_."

Dean looked over to find "shy" little Sammy chatting merrily, and very animatedly, with the bar tender and some of the young college aged patrons drinking at the bar. Sam looked like he knew them and knowing the way Sammy could talk, would be preoccupied for a while.

"Okay," Said Dean gently and slightly uncertain. "Can you hold on a second? I'm going to find a quieter place."

Dean was answered by patient silence. He got up and headed over to Sam, making sure all the while that his phone wasn't in plain sight.

Sam jumped as Dean placed a hand on his shoulder. Sam turned to look at his brother, his smile quickly fading at the sight of Dean's pale face.

"Hey you okay?" Sam asked concerned.

"Yeah," Dean said patting Sam on the shoulder and smiling reassuring. He wasn't sure if he was. "I'm not feeling the best. I'm going to step outside and grab some air. Maybe start heading home."

Sam started fishing out his keys. Dean raised a firm hand and shook his head. "Keep them," he shouted over the bar, "I feel like walking."

"You sure?" Sam asked uncertain.

Dean smiled and nodded. "Yeah. I'll see you back home." Dean glanced at Sam's friends and nodded his head in acknowledgement. "Take your time."

Sam smiled and nodded. Dean patted Sam's shoulder one last time before turning on his heel and heading out the door. As soon as he was outside, the biting cold of winter woke up his dormant senses and enveloping him in dread and longing, Dean placed the phone cautiously back to his ear. "Okay. So what's going on?"

"I don't understand." Dean stammered entering Sam's dorm room and shrugging off his jacket and shoes. "What do you mean ill?" As much as he tried to wrap his brain around John's words he simply couldn't. Never in his life did he remember seeing John with anything worse than a cold, which he had always been quick to deny. Secretly, Dean blamed John for his intensely stubborn denial of ailments.

"_I have a…_"John sighed. "_Look, it really doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things. I know that it doesn't make up for the way I've acted. The only reason I'm telling you any of this is to help you understand._"

"Dad," Dean sighed his mouth switching to autopilot as his brain tried valiantly to catch up with John's words. "You have nothing to-"

"_Don't you dare do that Dean_," John said firmly. "_Don't go making excuses for the way I am. You have defended me and my actions to Sam for years. Please don't defend my character flaws to me. _

"_What I've done…it doesn't deserve your forgiveness. By all rights I shouldn't even have the nerve to even ask for it. Just know that not a day goes by that I don't regret what I've done, or that I don't wish I could take it all back_."

"I…I don't understand," Dean said simply. "Why are you apologizing for all of this? Dad, I've never blamed you. I always understood why you did what you did. I know it's because I screwed up and you…why are you apologizing?"

"_Dean_," John said firmly trying to calm his quickly panicking son. "_I need you to listen to me. It was never right for me to do what I did…For any father to treat his son that way, it's simply unforgivable. I want you to know that I am willing to accept the consequence of my all my actions throughout the years. I am okay with this being the last time you ever talk to me, as long as you know that I really do love you and I am so sorry for all the pain I have caused you_."

"Dad, please, you're scaring me," Dean whispered, "What's wrong? I don't understand."

"_When I was in the hospital, they ran some tests…to make sure I was okay…it's a long story. Anyways they found something…unusual. Dean, what I'm about to tell you does not in any way, shape, or form make up for what I have done to you or your brother throughout the years, but it helps explain…I have an illness…_"

"What?" Dean questioned. "What kind of illness?"

"_It's called IED, Intermittent Explosive Disorder…_"

"What is that, like some type of bipolar disorder or something?"

"_Kind of…Having IED means that you have short bouts of incontrollable, intense anger. Rage. Blowing small incidents greatly out of proportion…_"

Dean's heart stopped. The way his father described the "illness"…it was like reliving his entire childhood again. In that instance everything seemed to snap wildly into place. Things, episodes, that didn't make sense and had no explanation, suddenly began clear.

"How…long have you had this…problem?" Dean asked carefully, trying desperately not to fall to pieces.

"_As far as they can tell?_" John said slowly pausing to ponder the question. "_A long time._"

Dean felt his gut wrench up in panic. He tried desperately to swallow the lump that was suffocating him. "So…so you're saying that you're IED was the cause of…?"

"_That's what they say was the reason behind a lot of what I did. But it still doesn't change things Dean. This…this "curse" isn't responsible for my behavior….only I can be blamed for that._"

"Dad, I don't…"Dean sighed trying to force himself into soldier mode. "Okay, so where do we go from here?"

"_We?_" John asked sounding genuinely confused.

"Of course," Dean said. "We're a family and this is as much our problem as it is yours. So what happens now?"

"_A solution hopefully; treatment and the like. Years of redemption._" John said bitterly.

"Okay." Dean said firmly. He rubbed a hand across his tired face gathering the strength to deal with the new found information. Secretly praying to a god he didn't believe in for giving him the strength to return to his father's side. "It's too late for me to do anything tonight, but first thing in the morning…I'll be there."

"_What are you talking about?_"

"You honestly don't think I'm going to let you deal with this alone. You need us right now…Sammy and I, we will be there for you." Dean said firmly.

"_Not Sammy! Dean you can't tell him!_" John exclaimed.

"Why not?"

"_I might be off my rocker_," John laughed.

"That's not funny Dad," Dean said tersely

"_But I'm not blind_," sighed John ignoring Dean. "_I know how much I've screwed up your lives…do you really think that giving him another excuse is what Sam wants? He wouldn't understand, and frankly I'm not sure I want him to. He's happier without me in his life. He's safer without us, without me. I just want what's best for him. And let's face it; I'm not what's best for anybody right now…I guess never have been…_"

Dean tried to find a reason to argue against what his father was saying, but even he didn't have the will to fight the truth tonight. Instead he simply stayed silent and hung his head in exhausted defeat.

"Okay," He sighed. "I won't tell Sammy. Dad, I'll be there as soon as I can, okay? But…this won't be easy for any of us…I just need some time with him, to give a proper goodbye. I can't just disappear again…but, I'll be there."

"_I'm sorry…_"John cried, he sounded on the verge of tears. Dean didn't know what to do, the last time he had heard his dad so desperate and helpless had been in the first painful years after Mary's death. "_I'm scared Dean…_"

What panic Dean had managed to keep at bay until that point escaped in a blinding flash of terror, pounding through his bloodstream; like electric fire. He wanted to cry; all of this seemed unfair. It was one thing to have random shit thrown at their family; a moment of violence and pain that could simply be explained away by the indiscriminate evil in the world. Dean was even okay that his father was "abusive"-how Dean hated that word- because it was by his own choice. But this, this was the last straw. It was one thing for his father to raise a hand because he cared; it was an entirely different thing to know he had no control over his actions.

"…Me too," said Dean quietly. "Try to get some rest; I'll be there as soon as I can."

"…_I love you Dean_," John said before hanging up.

The sound of the line going dead rang in Dean's ear and hung heavily in the air long after Dean ended his side of the phone call. "I love you too Dad."

Dean realized that the thing hated about his family the most was all the waiting. He hated waiting. The feelings of anxiousness, his over active imagination; all of it stressed him out. At that moment Dean wished for two things most in the world: that El Sol Sam had offered him, and that their family could go back to the way it was…before Mary had died. Dean knew that of those yearnings, at least one was impossible and the other was not a healthy solution at the moment; but, he couldn't help but hope that if he closed his eyes it would all turn out to be a dream. He not only hoped that the phone call was his imagination -though he'd never heard of an IED in his life- but his entire damn life. Dean wanted to scream. He was frustrated and hurt and confused; he didn't know what he did to piss off fate, but he sure hoped to hell she would get laid already and stop being such a bitch. Dean chuckled at his own ponderings; it was probably comments like that, that made her hate him so much.

Dean stared tensely at the clock…it was only going on 11. He debated between going back for Sam or sitting here with his panties in a bunch. Waiting sucked. Waiting for Sam especially sucked, but his whole life that's what he had always found himself doing. When they were kids Dean would wait on Sammy: tying his shoes, on getting dressed for school, on deciding what they were going to have for breakfast and what movie they were going to watch while waiting up for John. Then there were all the years of waiting for Sam to get out of school so they could walk home, or sitting in the car outside the movie theater on the rare occasions that Sam had a date. Dean had always bitched about being Sam's chauffer on those nights, but secretly he loved being on the date and encouraging his brother with secret conversation using their eyes through the rearview mirror; mostly he was just happy to see Sammy happy and "normal". But this waiting, sucked. Dean felt like some wife waiting up for her cheating husband to get home, though in this case he felt like the cheating spouse as well as the innocent victim. He really didn't have a clue what he was going to say to Sam, and by all counts he really should want him to take all the time in the world getting home.

"Fuck it," Dean sighed reaching for his phone to get an ETA from his little brother. He decided he would tell Sam it was him just making sure that Sam was okay and that it didn't have to turn into something creepy or embarrassing. Just as he was punching in the speed dial number to the phone, the lock turned. Dean immediately tossed his phone onto his bed and tried to look bored.

Sam's tall frame stumbled through the door, "Hey," his smiled his eyes slightly glassy.

"Dude," Dean smirked. "You are such a light weight. Please tell me you didn't drive home."

"M'not drunk," Sam snorted collapsing unto his bed. "Just…happy."

"Whatever," Dean replied sarcastically after a moment.

They sat in overwrought silence for a while, Sam close to nodding off into drunken dreams, and Dean silently screaming inside trying to figure things out. Dean's conviction wavered as he watched his little brother fighting fiercely against heavy eyelids. Could he really leave him again? Dean knew that leaving would most likely drive the final nail in the coffin of their relationship; he knew that Sam wouldn't understand. He knew that deep down this would be the hardest thing he ever had to do, that this very well could be the death of him. He couldn't do it…the longer he sat there the more he was convinced that he couldn't bring himself to betray his brother, ever again. Sam grunted and Dean was slapped back into harsh reality. Who was he kidding? There was no easy way out of this situation; it was either let down Dad or let down Sam. And in the triage of his life it really came down to who needed him more; and at this moment, that was his dad.

Dean sighed and standing moved over to Sam's bed and gently nudged his shoulder. Sam grunted and shot up in bed, looking around for trouble.

"Wha?" Sam asked half asleep

"We need to talk Sammy," Dean said gently but firmly, "But first let's go fix that hangover of yours."

Dean was really starting to hate this coffee shop. So far some of the shittier moments of his life had played out in the little ma and pop shop. He glanced around and gently let out a sigh of relief to not see the waitress from before; right now that would have just been awkward. Sam was slumped in the booth across from him and looked like he would keel over to the floor any second. Dean flagged down the nightshift waitress, an older woman who looked hardened through years of tough breaks and hard work.

"Can I get you boys something?" She looked tired.

"Yeah," Dean smiled, "Two coffees, black, please. Make sure it's extra strong." He pointed at Sam for a further explanation.

"Coming right up, sugar," She smiled and ran off to fill the order.

Dean turned to Sam, his bangs flopping sleepily in his eyes, that hair made him look like he was twelve. "You gonna make it there, Sam?"

"M'fine," Sam mumbled trying to shake away the last vestiges of his drunken state.

"I can't believe you drove home like that." Dean tisked, actually slightly annoyed at Sam's stupidity. "Next time call dumbass."

"I'm quite capable of driving Dean, I'm not even all that tipsy," Sam bitched. "Don't call me a dumbass!"

"Fine," Dean mocked, "I'm so sorry, I was mistaken, Bitch."

"Jerk," Sam quipped back just as the waitress returned.

"Thanks erm," Dean glanced at her name tag, "Fran."

"Sure thing, sweetheart."

Sam sat there gulping down the piping hot drink and started to feel his brain functioning again; Dean just watched his own cup grow cold. He felt sick. He didn't even know how to start this conversation; he didn't really want to.

"Dude," Sam said finally back to pretty much his old self. "Are you okay? You're not gonna puke or something right."

"Shut up," Dean shot back. _I might._

"So," Sam started again. Leave it to him to apply the band-aid method. "What do we need to talk about?"

Dean sighed and took a big gulp of lukewarm coffee, the warmth filling his chest helped ground him. _I can do this._ He took another long pause, and then another sigh. "I have to leave Sam."

"Are you not feeling well? We can go back the dorm if you would rather talk there." Dean almost laughed at how adorably oblivious Sam's comment was, instead he almost cried.

"No I mean, _I_ have to _leave_…here. I'm going home."

There was a long pause as Sam tried to wrap his head around his brother's words, but when they finally connected in his head it was like an explosion of emotion. Sam's face fell and then he snarled. "What do you mean _home_?"

Dean didn't say anything, he just stared at his coffee, and prayed he didn't throw it back up in his cup with his stomach doing flips like it was.

"You mean back to him?"

Dean mumbled, "…You wouldn't understand."

"You're damn right I don't understand!" Sam snarled, "Tell me Dean, are you just stupid or suicidal? Because I am… I'm having a really hard time understanding why you would do something so ridiculous."

"He needs me Sam," Dean defended himself.

"Dean, he almost killed you! You do realize if I hadn't of show up when I did you would be six feet under right now." Dean hung his head guiltily, knowing Sam was right. "He doesn't need you Dean. He needs help. Dad's not right in the head."

"That's exactly why I have to go back Sammy," Dean argued.

"What?" Sam asked exasperated.

"I have to help him…I can help him," Dean said.

"Dean," Sam said softly, "I know it's in your programming to fix things. But you can't fix this. You can't fix him. You going back is not going to change him. It's not going to change the years of abuse you suffered, we suffered, as kids."

"I know that!" Dean yelled slamming his hand fiercely on the table. Coffee sloshed out of his cup, and the waitress turned to face them, an annoyed look on her face. Dean got quiet for a second letting his anger burn out. "Look Sam. I'm not asking you to understand…because I know that no matter what I say, you never will. Not unless you have the full story, which you don't."

"What, full story?" Sam interrupted. "Dean, what are you not telling me?"

"It's not important Sammy," Dean sighed frustrated that he couldn't tell Sam everything. "But the point is I _have_ to go. There is nothing you can say, or do, that will make me change my mind. I just, I couldn't just take off without saying goodbye or giving you some sort of explanation."

"Dean, please…" Sam pleaded, silently begging his brother to stay.

"Can you drive me to the bus stop tomorrow?" Dean asked ignoring Sam's pleas.

Sam sighed looking away from his brother. It wasn't fair. He sighed and then looked back at his brother. In this light he looked so scared and fragile, but Sam could easily see the conviction his eyes, right next to the healing bruises. "I can do better than that," Sam fished into his pocket and dropped the keys to the Impala on the table. "She should still be at the motel…If you're really serious about doing this, I'll drive you to Santa Cruz tomorrow."

"Sammy," Dean's eyes got huge and he thought he might actually cry, though he would later deny the thought ever crossed his mind. "Where did you get those?"

Sam blushed, "I picked them up off the floor when I grabbed your stuff. I know how much she means to you…"

"Thank you, Sam!" Dean said sincerely clutching the keys gently.

"You're my brother, Dean," Sam said like that should all be common sense. "So tomorrow?"

"Yeah," Dean said.

"Do you even have a clue where Dad is?" Sam asked with sincere interest.

"Yeah, he's in the hospital." Dean said tucking the keys into his leather jacket.

"Good," Sam said quietly.

**We are about halfway through the story now. More to come soon. Comments are appreciated and encouraged! **


	10. Of Tender Reunions and Bittersweet Goodb

**AN: To my faithful readers, hopefully no one is too mad at me for not posting in a while; school is back in session and it's hard to find the time I need to do justice to this story. Anyways, if you weren't mad at me for taking my sweet time before you will be. I'm letting you all know that this will probably be my last update for a while. Before you kill me, know that I haven't abandoned this project and I fully intend on completing this story very soon. However, November is the National Novel Writing Month and I intend on participating. It's a monumental task to take on, but I think it's a marvelous opportunity to pursue some of my other non-fanfiction projects. I am aware that _Coffee Shops_ will suffer for my undertaking, but I hope you all will be kind enough to allow me a chance to do this and not feel so incredibly guilty for my neglect. Thanks so much for all of your support and loyalty; without you, this story would have never made it off the ground. I promise to have another chapter posted as soon as time allows. (I will post again regularly after November.) Unitl then, enjoy this parting gift and anticipate for more work in the future. Thank you! **

Sunlight streamed merrily through the windshield of the Impala warming the black leather of her interior. She had sat for days alone and abandoned in front of the Sunny Side Up Inn for more than a week and half now. Many had stopped to admire the muscled power of her streamlined black body and only by a miracle (or fate) had she managed to remain unscathed throughout her extended parking. There had been one incident that she had managed to survive only through sheer willpower and devotion to the Winchester men who loved her so; an attempted break in that had been foiled by the passing of a couple that had spooked the would-be robber away. So now she sat quiet and melancholy, hungry for the thirst of sweet tasting oil and a chance to use her voice again. She would be extra sure to grumble at her Dean when he finally returned.

If the Impala had the ability to do anything other than to sit still or go wherever she was directed, it could be very certain that she would have jumped out of her skin at the gentle loving caress on her trunk. A gentle hand traced the side of her; admiring, needy. She could have cried at hearing the wonderful, powerful timber of the man she loved most in the world whispering his undying love to her as he placed a hand on her hood.

"Oh baby, I missed you," Dean said, subconsciously running his hand on the hood. "I'll never leave you again. I promise."

"Dean," Sam smirked, "I don't know how much good it would do…but if you need some alone time with the car, all you need to do is ask."

"Shut up Sam!" Came the Impala and Dean's reply; Dean's only half hearted, just like Sam's attempt at banter.

The brothers grew quiet staring at each other over the hood. There was so much not said between them, but it was obvious neither had the strength to say what was on their minds. Dean dropped his hand from the hood and moved to unlock the trunk. The Impala groaned as Dean lifted the secret compartment to check if all the weapons remained in their rightful place. Well, as rightful a place as there was in the disorganized trunk; Sam forever wanted to sigh in frustration at the state of their weapons compartment. Getting the all clear that everything was accounted for, Dean closed and locked the compartment and placed his duffel in the trunk. It seemed so wrong to him to only see one bag where there used to be three. Dean sighed and shut and locked the trunk. God, he was tired. To say that he hadn't slept well last night would be an understatement. Dean was exhausted, and Sam looked no better off. It was quite obvious that they both had been up half the night trying to confront the demons that continued to chase them their entire lives.

Dean hated this, he hated everything about the situation; about the shitty hands he and his family had been dealt their whole lives. Every fiber of his being was screaming at him to stop; to stay with Sam and go to school and live some normal apple pie life. But his inner soldier was telling him that he couldn't just leave a man in the field, without anyone to help or protect him; he knew that as much as he wanted to just walk away he couldn't leave his post. Duty would always come before anything else, especially selfish desires. He moved to sit on the hood of the Impala; he suddenly felt very alone.

"So, I guess this is it, huh?" He asked. He couldn't look Sam in the eyes, it hurt too much; instead he attempted to bore holes in the ground with his eyes. Dean felt the car sink under Sam's weight as his brother sat down next to him. Dean risked a quick glance at his little brother; shoulders tightly shrugged, fists clenched in his jacket pockets, a look of total loss on his face; it made Dean want to cry all the more. He tried to reach out mentally to comfort his brother they only way he still knew how because he knew that words would do no good, they hadn't for a long time. The sounds of traffic were the only sounds to break the silence the Winchester boy's found themselves trapped in.

Sam began to squirm, ill at ease with the awkward silence and the unmentioned tension. He reached for something to say, anything to drive away all the unfamiliarity and the cold formality of this parting. Instead he found his mouth moving, speaking words that were just as empty as he felt.

"Dean, I…" He trailed off realizing how substance-less his words would be, and how pointless it was to continue when he didn't even know what he was trying to say. Everything? Anything? Nothing at all? Did it really matter?

"It's okay Sammy, "Dean reassured him, seeming to understand. "Me too…"

More silence passed between them. Sam suddenly had an unnatural fascination with an ink spot on his left shoe, Dean with the sky.

"Boy, I wish you were coming with me," Dean said softly, almost as if Sam was not supposed to hear it.

Sam sighed; he knew where this was headed. It was the same argument he had had with his family for most of his teenage life; he knew it was selfish to want something else for himself, something better, but he was long past caring.

"Dean," Sam warned gently. Not today. Not unless he had to. He wouldn't argue today; it hurt too much.

"I don't mean anything by it Sammy," Dean said quickly, a slight laugh escaping on his breath. "I just wish it could be the way it was before."

Sam snorted, _like we had anything better back then. The only difference is we were together when shit got handed to us._ He tried to steer away from those negative thoughts; they weren't helping.

"You could come with me you know…if you wanted to." Dean whispered almost as if he was afraid to be hopeful. Sam sighed and closed his eyes; he had known this was coming.

"I can't Dean," Sam said firmly.

"What do you mean you _can't_? It's your choice to stay, no one's forcing you." Dean bit back a little too bitterly.

"Let me rephrase that then," said Sam gently. "I don't want to."

Dean looked hurt but didn't say anything; Sam continued, "I have a life here. My life; the life I want. Normal, safe; everything I've ever wanted, here. I know I sound selfish, and I would give anything to have the best of both worlds, but that isn't an option Dean. And it's unfair and it sucks but that's the way life is sometimes. Things can't go back to the way they were before. I won't let them. Hunting, Dad…even you, that's not part of my world anymore, Dean…I'm sorry."

Dean felt as if he had been physically slapped. He would give anything, anything in the world, to not have to go at it alone. Dean wanted, needed, his brother by his side. And though he would deny it if anyone dared to ask, his suggestion for Sam to drop everything and join him wasn't so much a statement as a plea. But Dean knew how stubborn Sam was, and knew that there was nothing in the world that could motivate Sam to do something if he didn't want to do it.

"So," Dean broached the subject carefully, 'I'll call you when I meet back up with Dad?"

Sam stared at his shoes intensely, trying to gain strength for his next words. "About that," he said sullenly, "I…um. I don't think that this whole thing is healthy…for either of us."

"Sam," Dean replied firmly, determined to defend his actions. "I have to go to him, there is no other option."

"I'm not trying to stop you," Sam explained. "Dean you have to understand that this is the hardest thing I have ever had to do in my life, but I can't do this anymore."

"I don't understand," Dean finally looked Sam in the eye. "What are you trying to say to me?"

"Dean, I can't keep…our family, I just…Look, it's too painful for me. I have a life Dean, I have to be able to live it without staring anxiously at my phone waiting for a phone call from you, or the hospital or God forbid the police, informing me just how beat to hell you are. I'm not stopping you from doing what you think is right, but I can't keep doing this."

"Look, I'm not gonna make you stay. But I have a request for you," Sam sighed jumping off the Impala's hood. She groaned at the loss of Sam's weight. He began to pace, almost s if he was having an internal argument. Finally he stopped and turned to Dean. "I'm not you. I'm not strong like you…I won't put my family before everything…I can't afford to do that, Dean. I…I...Don't call me."

"What?" Dean asked exasperated.

"You heard me," Said Sam firmly but gently. "I can't keep doing this. I can't keep up this front anymore. It kills me; you and Dad...I just…this just seems like the best solution. I need to look out for myself now Dean, and I can't do that without cutting the ties to my old life. We can't grow if we don't do some pruning once in a while."

"Damn it Sam," Dean snapped slamming his hand on the hood. "This is your family you're talking about, not a damn bush. You can't just cut away the parts you don't like."

"Actually, I can." Sam replied. "Dean, I know this sounds selfish and cold; but I think it's the best thing to do. I just…you said yourself that things got worse after I left, after you went behind his back to visit me. Maybe, if you let him know that we cut each other out of each other's lives he will…stop."

"Sam," Dean warned. "That won't solve-"

"Yes it will damn it!" Shouted Sam; he started to pace frustrated. "You think you know everything; about our family, about me, but you don't know shit! Just because you're the damn protector, the "good soldier" who will race back into a fight you know very well you can't win. Our darling Dean, Daddy's blunt little hammer, the one who doesn't mind getting his ass handed to him for the sake of the family. Well let me tell you something, you know nothing, and you never will."

"Sam, don't you start with me," Dean growled grabbing Sam's shoulder to spin him around to face him.

"No! You fucking need to hear this. You don't know shit about anything. You might be the glue that holds our fucked up family together, but you are just as blind as our old man. You have no clue what our little after school special does to me. This little family drama kills me inside, and I'm done. I'm done crying myself to sleep at night with nightmares of _him._ I'm sick of sitting by the phone praying you'll call to tell me everything is okay…So yeah, call me selfish if that's what you want; but I can't do this anymore. I'm choosing to walk away from the pain…and you could too, if you really wanted to. But no, you're the good son who will just walk back into his' fists. But here's a news flash for you Dean, I was never the good son, so I don't have to do the right thing. I'm doing what's right for me and that's walking away."

"Sammy, I…" Dean squeezed his shoulder, trying to comfort him but Sam just pulled away.

"Dean, don't." Sam choked on the last word, his conviction and his emotions breaking fast now. "This is hard enough to do without you sympathizing with me."

Dean sighed and let go of his brother and sank back down onto the hood of the Impala. He was hurting; Sam's words felt like another gigantic slap aimed at his already bruised face. Never had Dean wanted to be more selfish than at that moment. He wanted nothing more than to pull Sam into his arms and comfort him and never let him go. Dean dragged a hand across his face, forcing away his emotions and reconstructing the walls that would enable him to be the strong unyielding protector that they all expected him to be. He had to let go; no matter how much he fought it, he knew it needed to be done. It would kill him; but Dean would do it because it was what Sam needed, and never had Dean been able to deny Sam anything.

"Okay," he said after a long time; finally staring up at Sam.

"Okay?" Sam asked incredulously. "Dean I just told you never to call me ever again and all you can say is 'okay'?"

"Yeah?" Dean asked confused, "What we're you expecting?"

"A punch in the face maybe; at least some angry words; abut no, all I get is okay."

"Do you want me to say something else?" Dean asked tiredly.

"No, that's exactly what I wanted…I mean, I just wasn't expecting you to agree that easily."

Dean sighed; this whole thing felt so wrong. "Yeah well, this is something you obviously need to do. And like you said, I'm Daddy's blunt little hammer…"

"Dean, I didn't mean-" Sam started apologetically.

"But you did Sam," Dean snapped. He ran a hand down his face and stared at the ground trying to calm himself back down. "You know what? It doesn't matter. If that's what you want then I will respect that. I won't call. I promise."

"Dean…"Sam tried to explain but when Dean just sighed and looked past him. Sam knew that the moment for explaining things had passed and that he would just have to accept the consequences of his words.

They sat in silence for a few more moments before Dean stood and fished his keys out of his pocket. "Well, I guess I better get going."

"Yeah, you should. Wouldn't want to keep the old man waiting," Sam said nonchalantly.

"Bye Sam," Dean bit out after another long pause. He moved to the driver's side of the car, unlocked it and was just about to get inside when Sam call out.

"Hey, Dean," Sam jogged over to the other side of the car. "Don't get me wrong, I'm sure you can take care of yourself, but uh just do me a favor…" He reached behind him and pulled John's Colt 1911 from the back of his jeans and handed it to Dean. "Take this with you, you know, just incase."

Dean gave the first sincere smile all morning at Sam's offering, "Thanks Sammy." He sank into the front bench of the Impala; he was finally home. Dean started the ignition.

"And Dean," Sam said quickly, knowing these would be the last words they spoke to each other for a very long time. Dean looked up at him with a raised eyebrow, his smirk now firmly in place. "Please be careful. Take care of yourself."

Dean smiled, "You too Sam."

Sam closed the door and stepped back from the only "home" he had ever truly known. With that Dean pressed the gas and the Impala screamed out of the parking lot. She was finally free again, and Dean was heading dutifully back to his world of pain; a little brother waving goodbye at him through his rearview mirror.

**Hopefully this chapter was worth the wait...um...so now I have the audacity to ask you to read and review. Thanks...I will be back soon!**


	11. A Destruction of His Own Creation

**Hey everyone, I'm so incredibly sorry that I haven't updated as long as I have. The last few months of school have been brutal, and I wasn't inspired to write. Anyways, my writer's block has gone away and after almost a two month hiatus I finally have something to present to you. I hope this makes up for the wait and I promise to have another update much sooner now that I'm on break. Wishing you the happiest of holiday's, here is my gift to you. Enjoy!  
**

Dean slipped silently through door; the beam of his flashlight casting eerie shadows on the wall. Dean clasped his gun harder in an attempt to steady it as he made his way to the right and headed towards the hallway in the decaying house. Turning the corner and finally entering the narrow hallway, Dean nearly jumped out of his skin when all of a sudden his own shadow was cast on the wall by a beam of light from behind him. He quickly huffed out a sigh and calmed his tense nerves, and glanced behind him. It had been a long time since he had been on a hunt, and if it was weird enough just returning to a hunt after months of R and R, it unnerved him even more to know he wasn't hunting alone either. The Winchester men crept stealthily down the hallway finally stopping at a door to their left and a set of rotten stairs on their right.

"Ok kiddo," John whispered. "I'm gonna clear this room. You head up stairs and start working your way through those rooms. I'll be right up. And Dean, be careful; these bastards can me nasty."

"Yes sir," Dean replied obediently making his way to the stairs. He put his right foot down to test his weight on the rotted wood; it creaked but held. Taking a brave step forward, Dean carefully made his way up the stairs. About halfway up the stairs he jumped at the sound of a door being kicked open. He glanced back down the stairs just as the back of John's coat disappeared through the door. Dean paused listening for any sign of distress; silence. Sighing Dean focused on his assignment and continued up the stairs.

As soon as he cleared the landing Dean was back in prime hunter mode, his eyes scanning the landing of the old house. There were three doors up here. Dean approached the one closest to him. He braced his shoulder at the door frame and checked that the safety of his gun was off. Taking a steeling breath Dean pushed open the door. He flinched as the door creaked as its rusty hinges were forced open, any advantage he had at surprising his prey dissipated with that noise. Dean quickly scanned the room with his gun and his flashlight, praying that he hadn't fucked up too bad. The room was clear. He sighed and slowly backed out of the room, and let out a surprised gasp as a hand grasped his shoulder. He whirled around, ready to pop an iron round into the skull of whatever had a grip on him. Dean felt his gun being knocked away from his target.

"Are you crazy?" John reprimanded in a harsh whisper. "Do I look like a ghoul to you boy? Get that damn gun out of my face and pay more attention to your surroundings."

"Yes sir, sorry sir," Dean replied quickly lowering his gun. He was thankful it was dark to hide the blush creeping up his face. He was rusty; had started to grow soft from too long being off the hunt. Thus far everything was going alright; everyone's tempers in check and there was still the promise of an easy hunt. But Dean knew; he knew just how close John's anger was to boiling over. And while he knew that John and he were working to help his father keep his temper in check, it probably was a good idea to attempt not to make anymore mistakes.

John whistled lowly snapping Dean back into reality.

"Focus boy," He growled, "This is no time to start day dreaming. If you are having too hard of a time concentrating on this hunt, go back to the freaking car and I'll take care of this on my own."

Dean shook his head. Easy hunt or not; no one knew better than the Winchesters that there was no such thing as an easy hunt. They were supposed to be hunting a ghoul. It had left nothing but a trail of desecrated, partially eaten corpses in it wake; at least until the other night when it suddenly developed a taste for much fresher younger meat. A string of missing children and a monster were never a good combination. And Dean wasn't about to leave his father without back up in case where a monster got creative and over stepped its dietary boundaries.

"No sir, I'm good. I promise," Dean said with conviction.

"Alright then," John pointed to the farthest door. "You take that one. He's in one of these two rooms son, he has no where to go. Don't hesitate, just shoot."

John clapped a hand on Dean's shoulder as he headed over to his other door. Dean stood farther back, covering his father as he slowly twisted the door handle as cover. Once the door was pushed open John nodded at Dean to move on to his own and raising his gun stormed in. Just as Dean was approaching his door, he jumped as two shots rang out. John had found the ghoul. Dean turned to glance behind to see if his father had emerged, hopefully with the most recently missing child, nothing. Dean prayed he would find the child, alive, in his room. Turning back to the door, he froze as an icy grip began tearing up from his heart into his throat, his door was ajar. Taking a steadying breath Dean leveled his gun and nudged the door the rest of the way open. He sighed in relief when it didn't give a shuddering creak like the last door.

Moonlight was streaming in through the window; well what was left of a window, the panes of glass were broken and scattered upon the ground. The dusty bed prevented him from getting a full view of the room he was scanning but he quickly spotted a small body huddled in the corner. The sounds of quiet, shaking sobs reached Dean's ears; this had to be Danny Gates, the last of the children to go missing. Dean bit back from calling out to the child, better safe than sorry. Dean crept farther in the room, trying his hardest not to make much noise. It didn't really matter the kid was too far gone in terror to acknowledge outside sounds. He started to round the bed passing under the window when a loud _crunch_ rang out. Dean winced and glanced down; one of his heavy steel toe boots had cracked off a chunk of one of the bigger pieces of glass. Dean breathed out gently and attempted to ease off the broken piece silently, he then carefully picked his way through the broken panes attempting to not make anymore noise. Dean knelt next to the terrified child, his back resting against the frame to the closet.

"Kid," Dean whispered. When he didn't respond Dean tucked his Colt 1911 into his jeans and shook his shoulder, "Hey kid. Kid."

After much persuading the child started to come to, his sobs becoming louder and more intense; finally he snapped back into focus. Turning his head towards Dean's presence he panicked at the unfamiliar face and letting out a scream punched Dean. Not expecting such a violent reaction from the kid, Dean didn't even have time to roll with the punch to his face. _Damn that kid had an arm_.

"Get away from me!" Danny shrieked, punching at Dean with all his might.

"Hey," Dean snapped catching the kid's arms. "Kid, kid, I'm not gonna hurt you. I'm here to rescue you."

The child stopped his struggling and looked into Dean sincere green eyes. At that moment he seemed to realize what he had been through and he burst into fresh sobs burying his head into Dean's shoulder and clutching on tight to his jacket.

"I just want to go home. Please mister." He sobbed. "I just wanna go home. Please, don't let him eat me."

Dean tensed for a minute having to remind himself that the tiny body trying to bury himself in his arms wasn't Sam. At the tiny arms wrapping around his neck Dean's body, on auto pilot, he moved his strong arms around the tiny body in an attempt to comfort the terrified child.

"It's okay kid. I gotcha. Nothing's gonna get you ok? I'm here to take you home. Shh, it's okay."

As the kid began to calm down Dean pulled away and looked the kid in the face. "My name's Dean, what's yours?"

"Dan…Danny," The kid hiccupped. Confirmation.

"Danny? Okay, listen to me. I'm gonna take you home. Can you stand?"

"I'm scared," Danny protested.

"That's okay kid, erm Danny. I'm right here and I'm not gonna let anything happen to you, ok?"

Danny nodded and slowly crawled his way up the wall to a standing position, Dean's knees popped, from kneeling on them too long, as he stood.

"Okay kid, let's go," Dean said leaning in to gently nudge him from the wall. Suddenly he was flying through the air as something crashed hard into his side. There was a slicing, burning on his arms and stomach as he landed hard on the ground. Dean rolled unto his back feeling the crunching as more glass cracked under his weight, right into the powerful punch of a second ghoul. Dean tried to twist a hand towards the back of his jeans to grab his gun. The monster straddled his chest pinning Dean's arms underneath him. Dean grunted in pain as the weight of the body on top of him pushed him farther into the shards of glass underneath him. A second blow landed at his face, knocking his head into the ground; he felt a slice on his cheek as it made contact with more shards. Dean hissed and bucked trying to get his arm free enough to take a shot. The ghoul snarled, post mortem saliva dripping unto Dean's face. Dean screamed as the acidic spit began to eat away at the fresh wound the glass left. He writhed in agony as it burned his flesh; he tried desperately to the wipe the spit off. Dean twisted and bucked and with each violent struggle managed to creep his pinned arm out from underneath him. He only needed move it just a little further before it would be free to take a shot; though already the defeatist that lived in his subconscious was telling him what a lost cause all his fighting was. The ghoul reached out a powerful hand and grabbed Dean by his hair and forced his head back, at the same time it opened its powerful jaws, razor sharp teeth extending outward as he moved towards Dean's exposed jugular. A deafening shot rang out and the creature bucked in agony atop of Dean letting out a pained roar as it turned to see where the attack had come from. It growled at John who stood tensed in the door way his own gun clutched firmly in his hands.

"Come and get it ugly," John goaded from the door trying to get the monster away from his injured son. He raised his pistol this time aiming for his head. Instead of taking the bait the monster turned it attention to its already downed prey.

Dean was sprayed with brain gore as the ghouls head exploded in a sickly red wave of mushy slop. The smoking colt was held firmly in his hand as he wiped the gore from his eyes. The ghoul slumped forward and Dean shoved the dead weight off of his chest; his lungs sighing in blessed relief. John rushed over, his gun scanning the room as he went looking for further threats. He helped Dean sit up, his hands coming away red; whether this was the blood of the beast's or his son's he did not yet know.

"Are you alright?" John asked already starting to check the extent of Dean's injuries.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Dean said shakily wiping at the spit still clinging to his cheek with his sleeve. He reached out a hand to John in a gesture to help him stand. Once he was on his feet and all his weight settled on his legs, his knees buckled as he swayed. John managed to catch him before he landed back in the mass of bloodied glass that glittered on the floor.

"Hold on kiddo," John said gently swinging Dean's arm over his shoulder in an attempt to take on some of Dean's weight. "I gotcha." John helped escort Dean to the dusty, moth eaten bed so he could give him a quick once over without the threat of Dean collapsing in the glass again.

"Are you okay kid?" Dean shot over John's shoulder as his dad grabbed his face to check the wound on his cheek and make sure that was the worst of his head injuries. John glanced behind to get a good look at the kid still trembling in the corner.

"Why don't you come over here and let me get a look at you son? Make sure you're alright." John said in a gruffly gentle voice. God how he hated cases with kids; every time, he would see his sons in their eyes. Danny looked to Dean for reassurance.

Dean let out a pained smile and nodded his head. "It's okay Danny. He's here to help us. He's my dad."

John let out a small smile at that remark, patting Dean gently on the shoulder as he started to scan him for the rest of the wounds. Danny crept slowly up the wall and once he was standing, sprinted to Dean's side like a jack rabbit. Dean hissed as the kid pressed himself into his side, but didn't try to move him past shifting him away from his sliced abs. John sighed when he got to the cuts on Dean's stomach.

"Well," he said as he lifted the torn shirt. "You won't die. You are damn lucky boy, anyone of these could have been lot worse and a lot more fatal."

"I know," Dean hissed as John thumbed one.

"So explain to me what in the hell you were thinking." John growled as he replaced the shirt and stood, his knees popping.

"I wasn't sir," Dean replied dejectedly.

John glanced the kid shaking into Dean's side, "We _will_ talk about it later. I need to get you two out of here. Can you walk?"

Dean nodded and pushed himself into a standing position; he managed to stay on his feet for a second before he sunk exhaustedly into the mattress again.

"Damn," John growled. He checked Dean's gun to make sure it was still loaded and handed it to him. "I'll be right back for you, just let me get the kid outside."

"K," he whispered. Man was he tired; standing really took it out of him.

By the time John got back to the room Dean was slumped on his side, passed out. John sighed; he hadn't been gone that long, but that Danny kid put up a hell of a fight as John tried to get him to wait in the car. Ten minuets and a scratch or two later and the kid was waiting in the back seat of the car trying to come to terms with the ordeal he had just lived through. Dean on the other hand we would need a whole different kind of coaxing; he was pale and was barely hanging onto consciences. John must have missed a cut that was deeper than he thought leading to an excessive amount of blood loss. John knelt down by his son, checking his pulse, it was slow.

"Dean," he whispered shaking him gently. A groan was the reply he got. "I'm gonna move you now, okay kiddo?"

Another groan and a weak nod from Dean. John tucked Dean's gun into his waistband and sliding Dean to the edge of the bed picked him up into a fireman's carry. Dean moaned as his cuts were rudely rubbed by John's hard shoulder, but the boy was too big to carry any other way.

"Hold on Dean-o, we're almost there." Soothed John.

"Hurts," Dean uttered softly.

"I know," He soothed as he walked as gently as he could down the steps and into the back portion of the house. They made their way through the house as carefully and as swiftly as Dean's dead weight would allow. Once outside John leaned his son up against the Impala's side while he opened the passenger door and then helped Dean inside. The cold night air was helping to bring some color back into his son's cheeks, a very good sign. All was quiet as the company departed down the dirt road that lead away from the dilapidated farmhouse; John seething inside for the casualties of this hunt, Danny traumatized from his terrible experience and Dean trying his hardest to mask a flinch with every bump in the rocky road. It was going to be a long ride.

It was near three in the morning by the time the Winchester men pulled up to their temporary accommodations in Shenandoah, Iowa. They had dropped Danny off at the local police station in an attempt to make good time in order to patch Dean up sooner. This ended up being not the easiest of tasks after John literally had to drag the boy out of the back seat and then explain to the startled officer on duty how he procured the missing child. There probably would have been another hour of questions if John's phone hadn't rung in the middle of a tense integration and he said he had a family emergency and left without further word. Dean collapsed gracelessly onto the bed; he looked rough and exhausted and if John knew better the extent of his injuries, besides the quick triage back at the hunt, he would have been inclined to allow him an hour or so of sleep before the rough meatball surgery he was about to perform.

John nudged Dean awake, handing him a bottle of half drunk whiskey. Dean looked at it suspiciously before shrugging and taking a huge gulp from it. The burn settled into his stomach and numbed some of the pain already. John helped Dean take off the rest of his shirt and they both grimaced at what the material had so wonderfully hidden. There were at least twenty cuts of varying degrees in size and depth littering the front of his body. Dean had literally been cut to ribbons.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean groaned as he watched his chest stream blood.

John covered a mouth with the palm of his hand taking a steadying breath. How could he have let this happen? Taking a steadying breath he moved over to their med kit and carried it back over to Dean's bed. John started digging in their pain killer storage; he sighed in dismay.

"We are out of the good stuff…all we got is Tylenol and half a Vicodin. Do you want it?"

Dean shook his head tensely, "No we better save that for an emergency until we manage to acquire some more." He reached out for the bottle on the night stand. "Let me just take another shot of this."

John fished out his lighter and a suture needle and flicking the Zippo, began to sanitize the needle. Dean took another gulp of Jack as John started threading the needle. John pushed Dean down on the bed, grabbing the pillows and placing them under his head so he could kind of see what John was doing. Once Dean was as comfortable as he could be, John started inspecting his wounds again. In the better light of the motel room he easily spotted the cut that was causing all the problems. It was a rather nasty looking cut on Dean's left pectoral, and had it been deeper or slightly better placed could truly have been fatal. John sighed and took the whiskey bottle from Dean's clenched hand a took a huge swig himself; he had to be the worst father in the world. Not only did he take his son into a condemned house to fight _monsters_, of all things, but now he didn't even have the decency, or the money, to take that same son to a hospital to have a licensed doctor patch him up. He sighed and giving Dean a reassuring smile slid the needle through the first bit of skin. Dean bit down on his bottom lip to muffle the moan trying to claw its way out of Dean's throat.

_Dean must really be hurting if he's letting the stitches get to him, _thought John as he completed one full stitch. Dean was the kind of kid who didn't bat an eyelash at most pain. The kid took dislocated shoulders, and stitches in stride; and for him to even be slightly tense at this patch job just proved how out of it he was.

"You're okay buddy," Reassured John gently, his composure close to breaking at causing his son even more pain. "I'm going as fast as I can. I promise."

Dean just nodded and took a steadying breath through his nose. Dean was taking another swig of whiskey when John finished up the worst of his wound.

He tried to be as methodical as he could; sewing small quick stitches in an attempt to lesson the pain for both of them. How could he have done this to his son? John wanted so badly to be angry at his son, to blame him for his careless mistakes; but he knew deep down that anger would never be justified. If anyone was to blame it was himself. He's the one who trained Dean that way. He took Dean's gentle and caring nature and twisted and shaped and mutilated it to fit his own sick needs. It wasn't Dean's fault that he trained his so well. Nor was it his fault that Dean sought his father's approval so badly that he stepped over the boundaries of what was right for his father to ask so willingly. He alone, was responsible for Dean's self-sacrificing attitude and low self esteem. But who could blame him if that's how he helped build his son? After all, the marines were all about breaking someone down to build them up stronger and better than before. Was it his fault that he was a slave to that way of life and to that was of thinking?...Yes, yes he was. As much as John tried to blame someone else for the mistakes he made in life, in the end the blame would always fall back into his lap. It was his choice to raise his sons in this lifestyle after Mary's death. It was his choice to beat the softness out of them until all that was left were the tough, good shells of soldiers in his personal war.

Dean groaned dragging John from his thoughts. Dean was covered in a thin sheen of sweat as he fought against the urge to squirm against the pain. His eyes and arms were clenched in tense discipline and John finished the tenth of the deep cuts. John wanted to break down and scream and cry. Dean lying there covered in blood and sweat was nothing but a manifestation of his failure. He couldn't do this. Even being in the room with a destruction of his own creation was too much to bear. He had to get out, he had to leave now or God only knew what would happen. John snatched the whiskey bottle out of Dean's hands and took another huge swig trying to steady his nerves and get the job done. He took a steadying breath and prepared to stitch up that last cut that needed it. The needle shook as it hovered over the wound…

"Son of a bitch!" John yelled throwing it across the room. He couldn't do it.

Dean's brow furrowed at the sudden commotion and he tried to pry his exhausted pain filled eyes open. The world was blurry for a second before everything came into sharp focus and the sight was almost as painful as his wounds. John had taken the whiskey bottle and was chugging like his life depended on it.

"Dad?" Dean grunted through a sore throat. John stopped and looked at his helpless son lying prone on the bed; his chest still red in the residue of his own blood.

"I'm sorry son," John said dejectedly, "I tired…I have to get out of here."

John gathered his coat and the keys to his truck and headed for the door.

"Dad?" Dean tried again, a little more strength behind his voice this time.

"I can't." John said firmly as the motel door slammed behind him. The grumble of his GMC Sierra Grande tore through the room and Dean groaned in defeat.

Dean's vision blurred again, this time due to the tears he was trying his hardest to keep at bay. A sobbing choke escaped his lips and his body was torn with a coughing fit as Dean tried to swallow it back down. Once the pain of his lungs subsided enough to think, Dean turned his head in an attempt to locate a glass of water he thought he had left on the bed side table. It was nowhere to be found. Dean's throat burned, he was thirsty, and all alone. He sighed at the realization that if he wanted to quench his thirst he was going have to get up and take care of it himself. Dean steeled himself for a moment before he threw his whole weight forward in an attempt to get his feet under him. He screamed as he felt the pull of the stitches. Refusing to let the pain cripple him Dean continued to pull himself forward until he collapsed on all fours on the ground. He let out a shaky breath trying to steel his resolve. Once he caught his breath he used the edge of the bed to pull himself to a bent over standing position and lumbered into their small bathroom. Taking the glass on the counter Dean ran the water and poured himself a big, refreshing drink of cold water. He took a huge gulp letting the water trickle down and sooth his dry throat. Dean caught sight of himself in the mirror as he finished off the water. The red on his chest matched his bloodshot eyes and before he knew what he was doing his face was twisted in rage and he chucked the glass at the mirror, shattering both. Dean let out a yell of rage and sorrow and collapsed to the bathroom floor. They had been so close. It was his fault; if he hadn't of screwed up his father wouldn't have fallen off the wagon. Because of him, everything they had worked to gain was lost in a mere instant. Dean didn't fight the tears anymore. He let them flow as he curled in on himself in his misery and soon they washed away the red painted upon his chest and any evidence of his screw up. It wouldn't be until morning when John stumbled into the bathroom to pay homage to the porcelain god that he would discover his son asleep on the floor; having cried himself to sleep. And John would kneel down beside him and hold him and sooth him; and suddenly everything would be fixed again and they would start to rebuild; like always.


	12. Of Hunter's Fears and Lots of Tears

**Hey, everyone. I'm sorry this chapter has been such a long time coming! I have been stressed out this semester with my class load and fin I really don't have much time to write, aside from the million papers and a play that are due for class. Anyways, in honor of Jensen's birthday I decided I need to update. I'm sorry for the wait. I hope this makes up for it. Enjoy.**

Dean knew it wasn't going to be a good night. He could just feel in his bones. It was that sinking feeling in his stomach, like he hadn't eaten in days, but he still felt like he was going to puke. A gnawing, twisting feeling; almost fear. Except, Dean Winchester didn't register fear anymore; he hadn't for a long time. John called that his hunter sense. He would say that it was pure instinct, from back when man wasn't on the top of the food chain, when mere survival was based on how fast a man could react to danger. John's rule number two, in a long list of rules, right under "watch out for Sammy at all costs", was "stay alert, stay alive". Those were the words ringing in Dean's head as he threw the weapons duffle on top of the secret compartment, easily at hand for a quick grab and go. His whole body was vibrating with tension. Dean shook his head in a futile attempt to clear his mind and focus back on the upcoming hunt. But no matter how hard Dean tried to shake the feeling that something really bad was going to happen he couldn't. It was times like this that he wished he allowed himself to drink before hunts, not a lot of course, but enough to steady his nerves. But even if his moral compass would allow him to drink on the job, Dean knew John would tan his hide if he ever caught with a bottle in his hands.

Dean jumped as another duffle bag slammed down next to his in the trunk.

"You okay kiddo? You looked like you were a million miles away?" Asked John gruffly.

Dean shook his head and fixed a reassuring smile on his face, "I'm great; just going over everything in my head."

"Stay focused Dean. Staying alert is," John started.

"Is staying alive, I know. I'm focused. I just got a feeling." Dean admitted.

"I've got one too. I hate cases with kids. "John closed the trunk and then tossed the keys to Dean. "Let's go."

Dean knew he should have listened to his hunter sense, but he knew that truthfully no primal instinct could prepare him for something like his. Cases with kids were bad enough, but cases going south were downright heart breaking. It was nights like this that Dean wondered what the hell all of his sacrifices were even for. These were the nights where he wished he could lose himself so deep in the bottle that there was no possible way to ever find his way out again. He hated this life; it brought him nothing but pain and heart ache. When he was little, before the fire, he used to tell Mary that he wanted to be a police officer, or a fireman, (he can't really remember which one he said more often anymore)so he could help people. Heck, a few times he still flirted with the idea, late at night when there was nothing left to protect him from the darkness but a mind filled with hopeful situations and an ounce of imagination. Not the fireman dream though, that dream had literally been burnt away with his old life on a ceiling. But tonight he would gladly have been inside an inferno battling an untamable element; anything to get away from what he was dealing with right now. How could it come to this? All his life it seemed like same demons were chasing him. Sometimes he could escape for a bit, but in the end they would always be there, a cold grip on his ankle dragging him back into the world he was drowning in. Tonight, it was the shtriga; the same damn monster that tried to take Sammy away from him. Years later and he's still paying the price; still making the same damn mistakes that get people killed. Never before had he longed to trade places with any person more than he did tonight. If he could, he would take the place of the little girl he clutched gently in his hand in an instant. She was so small, so fragile, so unnaturally cold. Dean pressed her body closer in a vain attempt to regenerate some of her warmth. It felt wrong to him that she should be met with nothing but coldness.

The sound of boots heavily upon the wooden floor pulled Dean back in.

"It's time to pack it up Dean-o; we have to get out here before things get anymore hinky." John said gently, placing a hand on his sons shoulder.

"Are you really so cold that this isn't affecting you even a little?" Dean snapped, shrugging out of his dad's grasp.

"What did you say to me?" John asked tensely. God, he needed for this hunt to be over. His failure cradled gently in his son's arms felt like a knife twisting in his side.

"A girl is dead Dad. Can't you just pretend to be a little sad for just a minuet? For me?" Dean whispered, clutching the girl closely. She must have been about six.

"This was going to happen one way or another Dean. The Shtriga had already started on her before we could get there. At least, this time it was fast and painless." John tried to comfort, fighting all the while to keep calm; they both couldn't afford having a break down right now, not with a dead girl and a trigger happy sheriff on the loose.

"You're a cold hearted bastard, you know that?" Dean muttered.

"Dean," John warned.

"I'm not leaving her, not like this. It's my fault she's here. Our fault. We knew what the hell it was, why did we wait so long to end it?"

"Dean, we can discuss all this later. Right now we have to go. Just because a hunt got flubbed does not mean you need to go to jail for a murder you didn't commit." John said trying to pull the girl out of Dean's arms.

"Fuck you! I did do this! I did murder her!" Dean said grasping tightly. "I saw what it was doing, but I was too afraid to take the shot. I killed her Dad."

"Dean, stop this nonsense now. Pull yourself together kiddo." John warned, this time forcing Dean to stand, the girl slipping gently out of his arms.

"No, damn it! Just because you lost whatever soul you had when mom died!"

The hit came so fast it caught both of them by surprise. Dean hadn't braced for the sudden attack, and fell to the ground with the hard punch.

"You shut your fucking mouth!" John roared. "I am tired of talking about this shit with you Dean. I am in charge damn it and you will listen to me. Now get your ass in the car before I leave you here."

"I hate you," Dean said pulling himself to his feet.

"At the moment I don't really give a fuck. Now are you coming or not?"

Dean looked at his Dad fire and pain in his eyes, "Not."

John roared in rage grabbing the front of Dean's shirt and raising his fist ready to set him straight, Dean braced himself; John stopped and let out a pained moan. He dropped his hands, a terrified look in his eyes.

"Dean, I…" He looked sick. Without another word he turned and headed for the car.

Dean didn't even bother turning to look as he heard the impala roar to life. Instead he kneeled buy the little girl and fished out his phone to call for an ambulance. He knew there was nothing that could be done about his father, and frankly at the moment he didn't care; his attention right now was on the little girl. As he waited for the paramedics to arrive he realized he didn't even know her name. In the end he realized it didn't really matter, she was but one of the many faceless victims the terror that was his life had consumed. He stayed there until the paramedics arrived; spouting a million questions a minuet. He gave them his phone number for when they needed to reach him, and he knew they would, not that it mattered, the Winchester's would be long out of the town by the time anyone opened up an investigation.

By the time that Dean had managed to trek back to the motel room they sky was beginning to lighten. Dean and John had been separated for hours and Dean was sure that in that time John had probably managed to raid a liquor store and get himself comfortably drunk. Any other night, Dean might have actually given a damn, but right now all he wanted was to join him. It was a surprise then when he walked in and his dad was sitting on the couch sober. His eyes were red and his clothes in disarray, but John Winchester was stone cold sober. Dean sighed and shut the door.

"Glad to see you're in one piece," Dean sighed sinking unto his bed, shrugging out of his jacket.

John sighed and looked at Dean hard in the face. If Dean didn't know better, he'd say his Dad had been crying. "Dean," his voice was huskier than usual, "We need to talk."


End file.
